Never Look Back
by Nekoburd
Summary: (n-c, yaoi)Yuber and Pesmerga are two sides of the same coin, believing they've chosen two completely different paths. But they're not as different as they'd like to think... Ch 4- update July '04.
1. The Dragon and the Phoenix

**"Never Look Back"­** – A Genso Suikoden fan fiction by Nekoburd

But first… The Happy-Little-Disclaimer-Thing:  

_I write this with no intention of claiming that it has any factual basis in relation to the characters discussed.  Much of it is my own personal speculation and theories.  However, I wanted to make this story true to Konami's official information, and to the most accepted (as well as some lesser known) fan based theories.  I wanted to try and make it somewhat accurate and possible, so I've done countless hours of research on the characters, the official (if limited) information about them, and the theories and ideas of a great many other people.  _

_I'd like to say thanks in advance to the wonderful people at Suikosource.com, Blue Moon's Forums, and Suikoworld.com for contributing volumes of information and speculation.  And a special thanks goes to Psi Yamaneko for her insight into Yuber and all that he is (or could be) through her works at various forums and message boards, and for flashes of inspiration scattered here and there.  _

Chapter 1 – The Dragon and the Phoenix 

            Yuber had always guessed he'd had a father _somewhere_.  But in all seven years of his life, he'd never met the man.  Sure, Mother would talk about him, often like she was in a dream.  She'd talk about the good he was doing in the army, talk about how brave he was.  How he'd be coming home soon.  But he never did come home, and eventually both Yuber and his older brother, Pesmerga, gave the thought over to wishful thinking.

            So he wasn't sure what, exactly, was going on when he was roused from an early morning slumber by the sounds of joyous weeping, a strange man's voice, and his brother's repeated cries of "Father!"

            He slid off the bed, rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes with a little yawn.  He stumbled awkwardly out into the hall, stopping at the doorway and peering into the room.  Everyone went silent, looking right at him.  

The stranger was a tall, dark haired man, dressed in the uniform of a soldier.  He looked to Yuber's mother, eyes inquiring some question the boy couldn't begin to understand.  She nodded, and a slow, overjoyed grin washed over the man's face as he stepped forward to take the confused child in his arms.  Yuber blinked at the words the man spoke, in quiet amazement.

            "I never knew...  that I had another son."

Yuber stared up at the blue sky, arms crossed behind his head as he followed Pesmerga home from town.  The late spring breeze felt good in the afternoon, and he would have smiled if something hadn't been on his mind.  The way people had sort of gone quiet when he and his brother had walked through the market, turning their backs and speaking in hushed voices amongst themselves the way they always did.

            "Pesmerga, why do people whisper whenever we're around?"

            The raven-haired boy shook his head, not looking back.  "I don't know."

            Yuber could tell his brother was lying.  Somehow, he could always tell.  "Yes you do, you just don't want to tell me."  He caught up to him, looking for an answer.

            Pesmerga reached out, snatching the younger boy by the arm in an angry grip.  "I told you I don't know, all right?  I don't know!"

            Yuber winced, nodding.  "Okay!  You don't have to yell..." He pulled his arm free, rubbing it and falling behind again, silent for the rest of the walk home.  Pesmerga was hiding something, and it irked him to no end that he wouldn't say what.  But he didn't want to get his brother mad, since it usually ended in a bruise or two on Yuber's part.  He would have to wait and ask again later.

            Pesmerga bit down on a scowl, barely keeping his fists from clenching into tight balls.  He _did_ know that answer, even though no one had ever really told him.  He was old enough now to put the pieces together and figure it out.  He had heard the words of the other children, the whispers of the town gossips, whenever he walked by, with or without his younger sibling.  Sometimes it was talk about Mother, but most times it was about Yuber.

            _And it's all true._  He frowned, glancing back at his sullen follower, who was intent on watching his feet, still holding his arm though it was sure forgotten by now.

            Yuber stood out like the proverbial sore thumb from the rest of the family.  True, the resemblance to his mother, as was Pesmerga's, was strikingly clear.  In fact, the brothers could almost have been identical twins as far as physical features.  But there the similarities ended.  Pesmerga was almost three years older than his sibling, had black hair and dark, brown eyes.  Yuber's hair was the color of summer straw, and his eyes were a depthless blue.  He had been born several months after their father had left for the war, so at first everyone assumed nothing.  But no one in the family had blue eyes, much less blonde hair.  Not one.

            So people started to talk.  They talked of Pesmerga's mother, how lonely she must have been with her husband away to war.  Poor thing, some often said with a shake of their heads.  For shame, they whispered.  She must have needed money or something.  How was she to run a respectable inn if she did such things?  

            Pesmerga shut his eyes tight against the burn of tears, feeling his fingernails digging into his palms and not caring.  _How could they say those things about Mother?  She works so hard, and makes an honest living!  _He was proud of his mother's inn.  It was the best one in town.  It was probably the best in the world.  They'd never had to worry about hard times, even with Father gone away._  She wouldn't ever…_

            Yet Yuber was living proof that she must have, somewhere along the way.  Pesmerga looked back at him from the corner of his eye, and the more he looked, the more he hated the younger boy.  _It's all your fault, Yuber.  You ruined everything.  Everything was just fine before you came.  Mother won't talk about it, and Father doesn't want to admit it.  They just keep pretending you're really his son.  But I know the truth.  I know you're a bastard.  And you're making everyone else's life Hell while they're trying to hide _your _secret._

            But he couldn't break his parents' hearts, couldn't shatter their precious denial.  He didn't know what it would do to them, especially if Pesmerga was the one to tell them the truth.  So he kept his mouth shut, held on to his hatred, and just kept moving.

            Yuber walked into the barn, his makeshift fishing pole over his shoulder like a highwayman's stick and satchel.  Granted, it was only a stick itself, with a bit of string and a rusty hook.  But it was _his_.  There wasn't much he could say that about.  In his other hand was a small bucket with some dry corn at the bottom—his bait.  Now all he needed to do was find his brother.

            He poked his head into a stall to find Pesmerga just where he thought he'd be.  The dark haired boy was leaning against their father's trusted warhorse, a handsome stallion of the deepest blood bay.  There was a far away look in his brown eyes as he absently rubbed the horse's nose.  Pesmerga often spent his free time with the animal, running his hands over its fine coat, talking to it about anything and everything.  What things passed between them, Yuber would never know.  And he'd probably never care.

            "Hey!" He set his bucket down with a hollow metal thud, bringing the older boy out of his daydreams.  "Mother says you have to take me fishing."

            Pesmerga mumbled something into the horse's mane before turning to Yuber.  "Why do _I_ have to?  Get Father, he'll do it."  Even though Pesmerga was barely fourteen, his voice had already started to deepen.  Yuber thought he sounded funny, but still wished his own voice would hurry and catch up.  He hated feeling like a little kid around his brother, and this wasn't helping any.

            "Father's busy, and Mother says I'm 'too little to go by myself.'  It's not _my_ idea." He shrugged.  

            Pesmerga sighed, shutting the door to the stall behind him.  "Fine.  Let's just go."

            Yuber smiled, picking up his bucket and starting ahead.  Pesmerga grabbed him by the shirt collar, stopping him.  "Hey!"

"Hold on a minute…" He pulled Yuber's haphazard ponytail out and redid it neatly, nodding in satisfaction at his work.  "There.  That was bugging me."

            The younger boy frowned at his brother.  "That took me forever to get.  I did it all by myself, and you ruined it."

            "You didn't do it very well, then." Pesmerga grinned.

            Yuber simply stuck his tongue out at him.  "Yeah, like _you'd_ know.  You don't even have one."

            "Wouldn't want one.  They look ridiculous."  The older remarked casually as they stepped outside, heading down the worn trail towards the lake.

            "Oh yeah?" Yuber challenged.

            "Yeah.  And what are you going to do about it, Runt?"

            Yuber _hated_ it when his brother called him that.  But he was not without a plan.  "…Race you!"  He took off as he said it, giving him a small lead.  But Pesmerga wasn't far behind, and his longer legs quickly overtook the boy.  He waved a little farewell as he passed Yuber, laughing.

            The blonde grit his teeth, trying to make his legs reach just a little farther, move just a little faster.  _I have to beat him this time!  He _always_ wins…  _Yuber felt like his heart was going to explode if he ran any faster, but he kept on going.  Pesmerga was just ahead, and Yuber was gaining.  _I have to beat him!_

The ground had other ideas.  The path seemed to rear up beneath him, catching his toe and throwing his balance.  His feet got caught up in themselves, and he went flying forward.  He tried to catch himself and keep going, but all his arm flapping was for nothing.  He crashed ingloriously into the dirt after a few clumsy somersaults, face first in the dust.  

            Pesmerga was at his side a moment later, as he coughed and tried to pick himself up.  His left arm hurt terribly, halfway between his elbow and his wrist, like someone had twisted it too hard.  

            "Yuber, are you all right?  Here, let me help," Pesmerga said, kneeling beside his brother.  

            Yuber shoved him roughly, spitting clods of the path back to where they belonged.  "Go away." He winced as he put pressure on his arm.  Pesmerga noticed and persisted in offering his hand.

            "I'm just trying to help."

            "I don't need your help."  Yuber was on one knee, inspecting the hole in his trousers and bloodied skin on the other.  

            "Look, you're hurt.  Let me—"

            "_Get away from me!_"  

            Pesmerga stepped back, staring at Yuber as if he had suddenly become a viper.  And well he may have, the way he'd snapped at Pesmerga so suddenly.  His blue eyes stormed as he stood up, glaring at the older boy.  "I said I _don't_ need you."

            Yuber dusted off his pants, and picked up his fishing pole again.  He scooped the spilled corn back into its bucket.  He took care not to use his left arm, but was also careful not let on it was hurt.  And it _hurt_.  But he wasn't about to let Pesmerga have that satisfaction.  

With his gear in hand, he turned to his brother.  He was calm again, and smiled a little, as if nothing had even happened.  "Alright, let's go fishing."

Pesmerga didn't really know what to say to his brother as they sat on the end of the dock.  He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say _anything_.  So he opted for nothing, attempting to come up with some line or another that would break the awkward silence.  He couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound condescending, but that didn't stop him from trying.  

The sun was settling low on the horizon, bathing the lake in warm golden light.  Yuber had let him have the pole after a little while, muttering something about not feeling like fishing since the fish weren't biting.  He sat with his back to Pesmerga now, curled up with his arms around his legs, staring down into the water.

Pesmerga felt bad for his earlier words, even if they were only to himself.  They were brothers, after all.  Half brothers were still a blood relation.  _And he does look an awful lot like me.  _

He tossed the line in again, stealing a glance at the younger boy.  Yuber's left arm had started to bruise.  Pesmerga guessed it was broken, but if Yuber was willing to suffer to keep up his guise of self-sufficiency, what could Pesmerga do but let him?

_He's so damn stubborn.  Just like everyone _else_ in this family.  _The irony of that was almost ridiculous.  He shook his head.  He still couldn't shake the truth away, it seemed.  It just kept coming back, and he felt the anger coming with it.

He noticed a light tension on the fishing line, distracting him.

"Hey, did you get one?" Yuber peered over his shoulder, suddenly interested again.  

"Don't know." He gave the pole a good tug, but sighed when his 'catch' didn't fight back.  "Damn, just a weed."  The water around the dock was full of weeds—it was almost all they ever caught when they couldn't go out into the boat with Father.

Pesmerga jerked the pole a few times, trying to loose the hook.  "It's stuck good… watch your head, I'm going to rip it out."  Yuber ducked under the older boy's arm, not wanting a hook in his face.  Pesmerga set the pole beside him, and yanked the line as hard as he could, falling on his rear as the string came free.  He held the line up—and blinked when he saw the hook hadn't come along for the ride.

"It must have snapped," he said, showing the frayed string to his sibling.

"Oh no!  That was my only hook!" he frowned in dismay, leaning precariously over the edge of the dock.  His search was short and fruitless, and he turned his head back to Pesmerga.  "What the heck did you do that for?" he demanded.

Pesmerga thought Yuber was making an awful big deal out of nothing, despite the genuinely wounded look on his sibling's face.  "Hey, it's not like I did it on purpose!"  He stood up, taking the stick-turned-pole in hand.  "The bait shed's just up the hill.  You could always get another one."

Yuber shook his head, peering back down into the water.  "That was _my_ hook.  The ones in the shed aren't mine."  

Pesmerga put his hand over his eyes, groaning.  "Why do you have to be so bull headed all the time?"  He sighed.  "Fine, _I'll_ go get us another hook.  There's still enough daylight left to catch _something_."  He turned on his heel and started up the hill, shaking his head in disbelief.

Yuber looked hard, but he couldn't see a thing in the dark water.  He was about to give up, when he managed to catch sight of the tail end of the broken string floating in the gentle, lapping waves.

Yes!  If I can grab that, I can pull the hook free.  That'll show Pesmerga… 

He lay flat on his belly and squirmed until his right arm dangled down towards the lake.  He stretched his fingers out, but still couldn't quite reach the elusive string.  He wriggled a little farther out, trying to keep his balance and avoid using his left arm at the same time.  It was a real pain, but it seemed to be working.  _Just a little farther…_

"Feck!"

Yep.  Splash.

Well, now that he was down there, he might as well get what he came for.  He followed the line down into the weeds, and worked the hook free.  Funny how easily it came out at the source.  He looked up to the surface, a dancing, shining light above him.  He started kicking his way back, thinking about how upset his mother would be that he would come home soaking wet.

And panicked when he discovered he wasn't going up.

Yuber could feel the weeds grasping at his ankles, tangling themselves around his legs as he struggled to reach that shimmering light.  His arms broke the surface several times—his left was screaming at him in protest—but he couldn't get his head above water.  The more he kicked, the more entrapped he became, and he gasped in blind, desperate fear.  He coughed as the air in his lungs was replaced by water, and was only rewarded with more water.  The life saving light was starting to dim…

Pesmerga threw the fishing pole to the side, the hook only half threaded, and tore down the hill.  He made for the dock as fast as he could go.  _Damn helpless fool.  Can't leave him alone for five minutes!  _As he ran, he gathered himself to leap in…

…And found himself slowing to a halt at the end of the dock.  He looked down and watched, still poised to jump, as Yuber's flailing arms sank beneath the water.

_Why not let him go?  Things would be so much easier without him… No more whispering, no more tag-a-long shadow… but he _is_ my brother._

_Half brother,_ he reminded himself.  _Only half.  You know it.  The whole town knows it, too, though they'd never say it to Mother or Father's faces.  Only to mine.  _He frowned.  _I should just let the bastard drown.  It'd be his own fault, and no one would care if he's gone._

He waited.  The younger boy still didn't surface, and Pesmerga couldn't see him.  The water by the dock was fairly deep, and the shadow thrown by sunset fell across the place he'd fallen in.

_Father would care, though.  Father likes the little runt.  They'd blame me if he died, no matter that he did it to himself.  Damn._

Pesmerga took a breath and stepped off the dock, knowing he was going to regret this decision sooner or later.

The voices of his parents floated through Yuber's door, to find his only half awake ears.  But half awake was enough to hear what they were saying.  

"Poor Pesmerga.  I was just in to check on him, and he looks like he's doing at least a little better." Ah, yes.  This conversation again.  He'd heard it yesterday, too.

_And just what happened to Pesmerga, Mother?_

 "Yes, he'll pull out of that cold soon." His father, sounding relieved.

_A cold.  I almost _die_, and he gets a cold.  _But his father had more to say.  He listened, his thoughts coming less fuzzily as sleep wore away.

"It's a good thing he was there, though.  If it wasn't for Pesmerga, Yuber would have certainly drowned.  He owes his brother his life." Yuber could hear his father's pride beaming in his voice, and it made him sick.  Or maybe it was all the lake water he'd swallowed.  He wasn't sure which.

_Yes, and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have had to go after the hook in the first place.  Oh, yeah… thanks a _lot_, Pesmerga.  _He buried his face in his pillow, feeling miserable.  His broken arm had been splinted, and when he'd first come around, the doctor had given him a stern dressing down about letting it go untreated for half the day.  On top of it, his mother had then proceeded to give him a lengthy list of reasons why what he did was foolish, and instructed him on exactly how grateful he should be to Pesmerga for saving him.

_Remind me again, I keep forgetting.  _He flopped over on his back, staring at the ceiling through half lidded eyes.  _He should have just let me die.  Would have saved us both the trouble._  He sighed, closing his eyes and waiting for the days to go by.  Waiting for his chance to find some way to prove to them that he was every bit as good as Pesmerga, if not better.  Waiting…

            Yuber hovered in the back of the room, glowering at Pesmerga as the weaponry instructor called him to demonstrate the latest set of techniques.  And his mood only got darker when Pesmerga performed without flaw, much to the delighted cheering of his classmates.

            _Come on, it's not like he ever makes a mistake, anyway.  Isn't anyone but me tired of seeing him leap like a trained dog whenever the instructor whistles?  It can't be all _that_ extraordinary.  _

            He was being petty and he knew it, but he really didn't care.  Pesmerga strode back to his place, looking smug and _quite_ satisfied with himself.  Yuber couldn't help thinking that he looked like some raven-haired peacock, strutting around like that.  He smirked a little at the idea.  _I might just have to tell him that later._  

The instructor dismissed the class until tomorrow.  Yuber set to putting his gear away, setting everything on its respective rack or shelf.  He stayed far away from the flock of students around his brother, who soaked up the attention like a sponge.  It was like this every day.  Nothing special.

He was about to head for home, when a friendly wave caught his attention.  

"Hey, Yuber."  Sylvia's smiling face met him at the door, blocking his exit playfully.  He grinned back, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.  

"What can I do for you, Sylvia?  You're only this nice to me when you want something," he teased, shaking a few stray locks of golden hair from his eyes.

She giggled.  "I am _not_.  I'm nice to you _all_ the time.  But it just so happens that I do want something."

"Ahah!  You can't fool me, little girl."

"Alas, I can't." She gave in with a little shrug.  "I wanted to know if you want to spar with me later today.  I could use the practice, and I _know_ you need it." She poked him in the ribs for emphasis.  

His smiled faded, and he looked off to the side.  "Why don't you ask Pesmerga?  He's the guy who knows what he's doing with a sword."  

"Oh, nonsense.  You just need a little more time.  He _is_ older than you.  He wasn't as good as he is now three years ago."

_Yes he was.  You're just trying to make me feel better._

"Well, I suppose you have a point, there." He played along, despite the fact that he knew he was lying.  "When do you wish to duel, then, Fair Lady?  Challenger sets the time and place." He bowed in imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Preferably before seven," Pesmerga said from behind them, arching a brow.  "Remember?"

Sylvia squealed and ran to throw her arms around Pesmerga's neck.  "Oh, yeah!  I forgot about that!"  She looked to Yuber as though she'd suddenly remembered he was still standing there, pitiful and embarrassed.  "Um… maybe we can take a rain check on that duel?"

It was all Yuber could do to put a smile on and nod cheerfully, as he glanced up at the sky.  Gloomy clouds were moving in from the west, bringing the promise of a thunderstorm.  "Yeah, looks like rain is about the right word."  He turned to walk away, waving a little goodbye.  "Have fun."

When he was sure he was out of sight, he let loose with a feral growl of frustration, slamming the side of his fist against the nearest wall.

_Damn!  Nineteen years, and I'm _still_ playing second to that arrogant, overbearing asshole!  First with Mother and Father—if he _is_ my father—and now with Sylvia!  He thinks he's so wonderful.  He acts like he's above everyone.  Like we're nothing to him.  Well, even eagles can be shot down, and when it happens to him, I'll be sure to be there to laugh at him.  He's done it to me enough times.  I owe him one._

            Yuber slipped unnoticed out the front door, as he'd done on so many nights before.  Pesmerga wasn't home yet, and his parents rarely took notice if Yuber came and went as he pleased.  So long as Pesmerga wasn't there, they could have cared less if he existed or not.  But if his older brother was around and he tried to leave, he'd end up catching the same boring lecture that'd he'd heard enough times to memorize.  

            _"Why can't you be more like your brother?  He's here insert-whatever-'nice thing'-he's doing, and you're off fooling around.  Can't you just be more helpful once in a while?"_

            The blonde bit his lip, not caring as the raindrops threw themselves at him.  _Sure, I could be more like Pesmerga.  But then I'd have a stick so far up my ass that the world would wonder why it didn't come out my head._

It was no comfort that when people said Pesmerga was good at everything he did, they were generally right.  He was an expert marksman, a skilled rider, and was something amazing to watch when he swung a sword.  Yuber, on the other hand, didn't seem to be able to grasp the concept of aiming an arrow, he hated horses, and his swordsmanship was something less than perfect.  _And that's putting it lightly._

However, there was at least one thing that Yuber could do that Pesmerga would never be able to match him in.  He could play the guitar, and he played it well.  He held on to that with precious, almost desperate care.  His father had often scolded him for it, called it a 'childish fancy' or 'something not fit for a man.'  The more his father disdained it, the more Yuber played.  It became his escape, the center in the storm.  And if his father hated it, that made it all the more satisfactory.

            _But music won't save your hide if someone decides to take a sword to you.  And I'm sick and tired of Pesmerga humiliating me day in, day out.  I _will_ prove to him—to them all—that I can do something worthwhile._

            He ignored the thunder rumbling ominously in the night sky, and made for town.

Yuber was alone in the small practice room, with only his sword, the rain, and the brief illumination of brilliant lightning for company.  And there was always his anger, a constant companion these days, never leaving the shadows of his mind.  With each swing of the blade, flashing in the darkness, that smoldering rage flared to life, consuming him until it was all he had left.

He snarled, bringing the blade down, across, up.  _How dare he do this to me now.  He knows how I feel about Sylvia.  He _knows_!  Pesmerga has taken everything from me, and I'll be damned if I let him get away with it this time._  He felt his grip tighten on the hilt.  Thunder above the roof echoed the growl rising in his throat.

The sliding of the dojo's door was terribly loud in the lonely building.  Someone had come in.  Yuber froze.  If he was found here after hours…  His sword fell to the floor, and his legs felt like leaden weights.  His heart leapt to his throat.  He waited, catching his breath as quietly as he could, trying to see who was coming.

Silence.  Minutes passed, and still there was only the rain.  He slowly eased his guard, relaxing.  He knelt to pick up his sword, to start the routine again—

--And found himself sprawled across the floor, wind knocked from his breast by a well-placed backhand.  He coughed, and tried to get up.  He was greeted by a sharp pain under his chin.  He followed the long blade up to its owner, cursing himself for wheezing with lack of breath.

The man was cloaked in shadows, but when another scream of lightning lit the room, it revealed the nature of the stranger.  And he seemed more a beast than a man, with a wicked grin spread from ear to ear.

"So you're the one it wants, eh?  Huh.  Sort of a scrawny thing.  Well, what the Hell, as long as I can finally _die_, what do I care who it picks next?" The man reached for him, and yanked Yuber to his feet by the front of his shirt.  That cruel, cold sword never left its train on his throat.

"Listen good, since I'm only going to give you this choice because I'm in a good mood.  This," he said setting the youth down, and putting his right hand up to Yuber's face, "Wants to take you on as its new owner.  Or rather,_ it _wants to own _you_."  

Yuber paled at the blood on the man's hand, presumably his own from the wound Yuber could make out at the man's side.  He didn't know what the stranger was talking about, but he felt it was best to just agree with him, and nodded slowly.  The man continued.  "The choice is simple.  Either you take it from me, or I kill you.  Pretty simple.  So, your choice?"

Yuber frowned at him, despite his potentially precarious situation.  "Some choice.  Since I don't feel much like dying, I guess I'll have to take it, won't I?  Whatever _it_ is." Yuber had the distinct feeling he was being blackmailed into something he'd regret for the rest of his life, but couldn't do anything about it.

"Heh, you're a cocky little bastard.  Maybe it knows what it's doing…" He snatched Yuber's right hand in his own, and a flash of light too bright for lightning blinded him for a fleeting moment.  The sword fell away from its target as the man collapsed to the floor with a tired sigh, as if a great burden had suddenly vanished.  Yuber wiped the stranger's blood against his shirt, and looked at his hand, trying to make out the small mark on his palm.  

_A Rune…_

The man shuddered, a dying breath.  "May whatever God pities a fool have mercy on your soul…"

And then he was alone again, with only the rain.

When Yuber had kneeled to pick up his nearly forgotten weapon, still confused and unsettled by the dead man's words, he'd been completely unprepared for the sudden wave of memories that had flooded his mind.  He'd just held his hand out, barely touching the hilt, and then it was as if a furious whirlwind was screaming in his mind.

Now, he staggered out of the dojo's double doors, trying to come to grips with the settling fragments of the life of another.  No, several others.  And none of the pieces were very comforting…

He held the sword from the dojo in his branded right hand, clutching it in a white knuckled fist as he wandered the empty streets.  He lifted his face up, felt the sting of the rain against his cheeks.  It was cold.  He knew it was cold.  But somehow, he couldn't quite feel _how_ cold it was.  It was only a vague certainty, a fact.  Strange.

He shook his head, tossing straggling locks of wet blonde hair over his shoulder.  He had the suspicion that he must look drunk, somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the floating thoughts.  Still, no one else was fool enough to be out in this ungodly weather, thus no one was likely to see him.  So he kept walking, all the while trying to find his feet beneath the numbness, thinking back to the moment when everything had fallen in on him.

Something had hit him when he touched the sword.  He could faintly recall a feeling like something scurrying up his arm, and then the memories had overrun him.  He couldn't search through them for a clue.  He'd tried, but it was like touching white-hot steel.  The wisps of the others' pasts he carried were so full of gripping, choking _pain_ that he couldn't access them without feeling immediately strangled by them.  

Of the few things he _had_ managed to garner from his brief searches, the most important was the name of his newly acquired Rune.  It was a shame he'd never heard of the Eightfold Rune before, though.  It may have been some help.  Instead it was just one more question mark in a list already too long.

Laughter ahead of him made him pause, and he looked up through the driving rain to see who it belonged to.  He became aware that he was drenched to the bone, and he probably would get Hell for it when he got home.  But it didn't seem to matter quite so much any more.

The scene was sickeningly perfect.  Sylvia clung to Pesmerga's arm, giggling and having the time of her life as they exited one of the taverns lining the street.  If Yuber only _looked_ drunk, then she was three sheets to the wind.  Pesmerga grinned at her, supporting her as he held the umbrella over her head like a perfect gentleman.  Neither of them noticed him, and they headed off in the direction of her house.

Yuber felt a tingling in his hand as the old hatred surfaced again, rising in him like a tide.  But instead of the usual snarl, he felt an odd little half smile slide across his lips.  The Rune was whispering to him.  And he liked what it was saying.

Pesmerga was gone.  _Finally!  I thought he'd _never_ leave.  I swear, if they kissed _one more time_, I think I would have screamed.  And that would have ruined everything, _he thought, watching his dark haired brother make his way down the street.  _It's about time I got a little of my own back._

He knew Sylvia stayed alone in her small house.  She had since she was seventeen, and had proclaimed her independence.  That just made things all the easier.  Sylvia waved until Pesmerga was out of sight, and stepped inside.  

Yuber slipped out from behind the corner he'd been waiting behind, and calmly walked up to her house.  Up the steps, his hand on the door... his heart was racing with a fierce anticipation he'd never known.  The door was predictably unlocked, and he opened it as carelessly as if it were his own home.  The sword seemed to thrum, and his right hand ached.  He guessed it was from holding the blade so tightly, but it couldn't be helped.  He glanced into the first room he came to—

--And there she was.  She blinked at him, dumbfounded.  "Yuber?"

He had to smile at the innocent, simple question, and nodded.  "Hello, Sylvia."

She glanced nervously from him, to the quivering blade, to the bloodstain on his drenched shirt, and back again.  "You're... why were you out in the rain?  You're soaking wet!  You'll catch a cold..." she trailed off as he took a step in her direction, into the living room. 

"You shouldn't pretend to care so much, Sylvia."  He raised the blade slowly, feeling the ache in his hand intensify.  But he was too far to stop now...  "I think you'll find out it was a bad idea to get drunk tonight.  I'm sure your fighting skills have been compromised."

Sylvia's eyes widened for a moment, realizing what was going on, then narrowed.  She flicked her wrist, and a fighting knife was suddenly nestled in her palm.  "You're mistaken if you think you can kill me.  You can't even fight in an open training room.  What makes you think you can fight me in a small space like this?"  Her tone was wary, but with gentle concern in its cautioning words.  It held none of the condescending venom he would have expected.  And that only served to fuel the fire.

"I just may have a few surprises for you, then."  

He swung broadly, without warning, slashing at her with a speed he'd had no idea he possessed.  Apparently, she didn't think he could move that fast, either.  She barely had time to block, holding up her puny looking dagger in a desperate defense.  She _was_ better than him, though.  A counter attack proved that swiftly enough.  He cursed as the knife found it's way in and out of his thigh.

"You little _bitch_!" He brought the flat of the blade around with a wild new strength, fed by the pain of his injury.  It connected with Sylvia's arm with a wet _crack_, and she cried in pain, staggering back as her dagger fell to the carpet.

The sounds sent a thrilling shock down his spine, and he began to understand what the ache in his rune-hand was.  It was a craving, a longing desire.  For blood.  For _death._  The Rune wove its murderous urge around his soul, and became part of it forever.  It became _him.  _And he embraced every moment of it.

He stood over Sylvia with a lunatic's smile pasted to his face, and raised his sword.

            Pesmerga almost jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of the ghastly figure in the doorway.  He and his parents had been discussing his evening, when the front door had been thrown open.  Yuber stood calmly just inside, looking at his older brother with an unreadable expression.  He held one of the nondescript blades from the training dojo in his hand. Patches of dark scarlet stained his clothes, which clung to his lithe body with the weight of the water they carried.  Yuber's blue eyes met with Pesmerga's from behind streaks of rain-soaked hair.

            _Blood...  He's covered in blood..._

"You need to go see Sylvia."  Yuber's voice was flat and heavy.  He was grimly serious.  "Now."

            Pesmerga scrambled from his chair and bolted for the door, pushing Yuber out of the way.  He flew down the path, feeling the chill grip of worried dread on his heart.  _Hold on, Sylvia.  Please hold on._

Never in his life had the road into town been so long—or so muddy.  He must have slipped and skidded half a dozen times as he pelted through the sludge.  It was a wonder he didn't fall and break his neck.  One particularly nasty twist set his ankle afire.  But he forced himself to run, faster than he'd ever run before.

            First trees, then buildings rushed past him in a hazy blur through the rain.  He counted the streets as he made his way through the dimly lit town.  On the fourth, he turned sharply to his left, and left again.  Perhaps too sharply, and his ankle cried for mercy.  But Sylvia's house was there, right there!  

            He half ran, half hopped up the stairs, throwing himself against the door.  He found it already open, and crashed into the hallway, sliding on the loose rug.

            "Sylvia!" 

            He saw her in the first room, curled in on herself and shaking.  Pesmerga flew to her side, reaching for her tentatively.  She looked up to him, her eyes already losing their light.  There was a deep red tinge to the carpet, all around her body. 

            He gingerly held her, stunned.  She lay bleeding in his arms from a deep gash across her torso, her breath ragged and weak.  He blinked, forcing the only thing he could think of from his choked throat.  "What... what happened?  Who...?"

            Nothing could have prepared him for the answer she gave, though the more he thought about it later, the more he realized he should have seen it coming.

            "Yuber."

            Pesmerga stayed with her, even after she was long gone.  It must have been hours after she'd breathed her last, shivering breath, before he could bring himself to get to his feet.  He was past disbelief, and well into deep set shock.  He leaned heavily against the wall in the hallway, still not wanting to leave.  He did his very best to pull all the pieces together and straighten out them out.  It was all becoming clearer.

            _Yuber did this.  He killed her.  That was her blood all over him.  All over.  He did this._

            Clarity snapped into place at his next thought, like the crack of a bullwhip in his mind.  

            _This is the last time he's going to get in my way._

And he knew what he had to do.  He had to go home.

            Pesmerga blanched, shutting the door faster than he had opened it.  _No..._  He felt bile rising in the back of his throat, blinking repeatedly as beads of cold sweat, colder than the rain, slid down his face.  He did his best to steel himself, taking in several deep breaths before he turned to face the door.  He reached out, gripped the handle, and pulled—

--To step into what could have been a battlefield.  Or Hell.  The room was painted with bright crimson strokes, broad and careless.  The air was thick with the smell of new death.  Blood still crept down the walls, still soaked into the carpet and furniture.  It was everywhere, pervading every one of his senses.  He shut his eyes, not wanting to see, not wanting to believe...

            _God, there's so much blood.  So much blood...  _Pesmerga's mind chased itself in little circles, around and around.  He fell to his knees, praying someone would wake him from this nightmare.

            __

            Yuber paused, peering into the darkness of the old horse's stall as he passed.  _Ah, and what else can I take from him?  _He called softly to the animal, rousing it from its peaceful sleep.  It whickered nervously, backing into a corner, its ears flat against its skull.  Yuber was the last person it wanted to associate with.  Though it wasn't unusual for the horse to dislike him, this time he couldn't exactly blame it.  He flipped the latch, sword at the ready.  

            He got a good look at the beast, however, and laughed softly.  "You're nothing but a skeleton already, aren't you?  You don't need me to finish the job... you'll be dead on your own in a few months.  It might be better if I let you live.  And when you go, Pesmerga will watch your life slip through his fingers, and he won't be able to do anything about it."  He smiled at the delicious irony.  "Wouldn't that be sweet justice..."

            "_Justice_?"

            Yuber looked up, and his casual smile became a delighted grin as he saw his half brother in the barn's doorway.  He was every bit as wet as Yuber, though only half as bloody.  

            "Hello there.  It's about time you pulled yourself together."  He looked up into the rafters, watching Pesmerga from the corner of his eye.  "Did you like how I redecorated the place?"

            "You _bastard_!"  Pesmerga howled, but didn't move otherwise.  "Everything they ever did for you..."

            "_What_ did they do for me?  My whole life has been a _lie_!  Everything I am, everything I had been...  Every second, they tried to make me into another _you_.  Because neither of them could say it to each other's faces that I wasn't his son.  Because they couldn't bear to look at me, and see me for who I was.  A bastard I may be, but I still have a life of my own!  I am not _you_!"

            "And this is what you do with that life?  You'd throw it away so quickly?"  Pesmerga countered.

            "I am _living_ it!  More than I ever have!"  Yuber laughed, spreading his arms out as he threw his head back.  "I've taken my life back from all the people that kept it from me, holding it by a short leash.  I have the power to live now.  Without any of you."  He locked his eyes with Pesmerga's.  "I don't need you."

            For a second, Pesmerga thought his mind was playing tricks on him in the cheating light.  Was something different about Yuber's eyes...?  "So... do you plan to kill me, too?"

            Yuber's strange gaze turned thoughtful.  He took a few steps toward Pesmerga, regarding his half brother with an unsettling smirk.  "I could.  I would like nothing more for you to experience some of the pain you've put me through."  He stopped a few yards off.  "But I think you'd have a much better idea of it if I let you live.  If you had to find some way to exist without anything.  With everything you ever loved and cherished stripped from you, and with the one thing you _hate_ more than anything else to blame for it all."  He tilted his head, his half-dry blonde hair falling over one eye.  "Beginning to think you'd rather die?"

            Pesmerga shook his head, making his disgust very clear.  "What's happened to you?  This isn't like you, Yuber."

            The blonde almost giggled.  "You really don't know me very well, do you?  I guess I was better than I thought at hiding who I really am from you all.  I must have played along a little _too_ well.  Pity."  He took another step.

            Pesmerga put a hand up defensively, much to Yuber's amusement.  He raised one golden eyebrow, curious to his half brother's reaction.  He set his blade down, and kicked it towards Pesmerga's feet.  He was rewarded with a puzzled glance from the other, and explained.

            "Kill me if you want."  Yuber shrugged.  "Just be sure you get it right the first time.  It's the only chance you'll have where I don't intend to fight back.  But don't take too long, now."  The blonde became smug, folding his arms across his chest. 

            Pesmerga just stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.  "What?"

            "Come on!  Kill me!  Take your vengeance."  Yuber closed the distance between them, coming within easy reach.  Pesmerga could only blink in confused incomprehension, intimidated.  He turned, sidestepping away and moving further into the barn.  Yuber sighed, holding his hands up an innocent gesture.  "You always do things the hard way.  Well, don't say I didn't warn you..."

            Before Pesmerga had time to react, Yuber had grabbed him by the front of his shirt.  He pulled his half brother forward, and then flung him into an empty stall.  It took all his strength, but it felt _so_ good.  He stood over him, and watched with glee as Pesmerga got to his feet.  And again, Yuber knocked him down, throwing his weight into a swift backhand.  Still Pesmerga refused to stay where he was, pulling himself up, glaring at Yuber with fire enough to scorch Hell.

            _As much fun as it would be to do this all night..._   He put his rune-hand out, carefully wrapping it around Pesmerga's neck.  He felt the pulse beneath his skin.  It was warm, alive.  How easy it would be to snuff it out.  _Or what if...?_

He brought his free hand up to Pesmerga's face, tracing his own mirrored features hiding there.  He thrilled when he felt the pulse skip and quicken, while Pesmerga squirmed in obvious discomfort.  A light went on inside his head, and the Rune started singing a different tune to him this time.  Just how far could he take this?

            Pesmerga made a few feeble efforts to free himself, but Yuber's grip on his throat held him fast.  He paled when Yuber pinned a predatory stare on him, and he finally recognized the change he had detected earlier.  _There _is_ something wrong with his eyes.  _Once they had been eyes of the deepest blue, but now they were something more... frightening.  His left had become a pale, dead shadow of its former self.  And his right was a cat-slit crimson.  Neither one looked quite sane.    

            He shivered, and not from the bone chilling cold of his wet clothes.  Yuber ran a finger along his jaw line, deceptively gentle in his touch.  Pesmerga felt an iron knot growing in his gut.  He had no idea what was going to happen next and he was sure he didn't want to know.

             He froze, feeling much like a game bird in the jaws of a hunting hound.  Yuber's hand fell away from his neck, and he seemed to be calculating something as he stood there, as if waiting for a reaction.  As much as Pesmerga would have loved to give that twisted smile a good bashing in, he just couldn't find the strength to move.  He thought he recalled twitching a finger, taking a breath... but that was all.

            Suddenly the blonde was uncomfortably close, one hand to either side of his dark haired counterpart.  He was trapped, caught in the mysterious, mismatched eyes.  He blinked, and they were gone.

_Where—_

_--!_

Pesmerga felt a shock run through his body as Yuber placed his lips against his throat.  _What the hell is he doing!  _Reason gave way to blind terror, logic was replaced by panic.  He squeaked, clawing helplessly at the blonde, trying to push him away.  Yuber only chuckled mirthfully, spurred on by the useless struggle.  

"You had your chance," he said conversationally, between his slow, deliberate kisses.  "Now it's _my_ turn."

            _Oh God.  Kill me.  Kill me now.  Now.  Kill me kill me kill me..._

Pesmerga thought his heart was going to collapse.  His brain was functioning, but just barely.  Just enough to register absolute terror as Yuber began to undo the buttons on his shirt, slipping it down around his shoulders.

            _I'm never wearing buttons again.  _The absurd thought was wrought in hysteria.  _What is he… he's my… why?_

He felt his back sliding against the rough, unsanded wood of the stall.  Sliding down, sinking in the straw, on the floor.  At least it was clean straw.  It was a wonderful smell, most days.  Clean straw…  He tried to force himself to think only of that, trying to use his childhood fondness of the barn to cheat his way out of this increasingly horrifying game.  But using his love of this place against him seemed to be the intention, and it only made matters worse.

            He reached up, grasping at nothing, trying to find something to either defend himself with or pull himself away with.  He found only empty air, and a strangled cry escaped him.

            He shuddered, violently enough that it may have been a convulsion, when Yuber's hands danced across his body.  He was drowning in the strange eyes.  Golden hair fell carelessly across his bare chest.  Pesmerga closed himself, his eyes, his ears, trying to make it all go away and failing miserably.  He could feel Yuber's tongue…

            _Kill me kill me **kill me!**_

His mind screamed a final desperate cry, and shut itself off with a defeated whimper.  He felt like he was watching someone else, like he was only looking on with a detached, stupefied numbness.  _Kill me… please…_

 Despite telling himself that he _should_ stop, Yuber was having an increasingly difficult time keeping himself from just letting go and giving in to his impulses.  _I don't want to break him.  If I did that, he'd be as good as dead.  He'd lose any sense of coherence and everything I've done to him will be a waste.  But how far is too far?  How far…_

He felt Pesmerga's fluttering, uncertain heartbeat beneath his fingertips.  It bounced and pounded wildly, and his breath was short and clipped.  It reminded Yuber of when he'd caught a lizard once, and held it so it couldn't escape.  It had struggled too much, and it had crushed itself in his grip.  _Carefully.  Don't let him fight.  Make him remember this._

For some reason, it didn't feel strange to be kissing Pesmerga.  It sent rills of dark, welcoming electricity through his body.  He fought to keep it bridled, to tame it and control it, but he was sharply aware that it was becoming a losing battle.

            _I want to make him hurt.  I _want_ him.  _

Was that the Rune talking again?  He didn't think so.  He let the leash slip, just a little, exploring this curious desire.  He was fascinated.  With every well-placed touch, Pesmerga seemed to be less and less inclined to fight back.  Every time Yuber's lips pressed against Pesmerga's chest, his collarbone, his throat, Yuber could feel him weakening.  Pesmerga made no more protest than a muffled whimper when Yuber nonchalantly tugged on his chin, pulling his half brother's mouth open and letting the blonde's tongue in.  And he tasted _so good.  _Yuber's senses purred in ecstasy.  It was like drinking victory.  Like revenge.

            _But discretion is the better part of…_

_            Valor?  **Ha!**  _

He was tired of fighting with himself, and he beat his weakness down like a groveling dog.  _Discretion be damned!  He's daring me to take him.  I _want_ to take him…_

He felt the last of his inhibitions vanish, evaporating into a memory.  His tight hold on control slipped its bonds in the space of a passionate, forceful kiss.  He considered the thought of putting an end to this, just one more time, as his fingers flew across the buckle of Pesmerga's belt.  After that, nothing could have stopped him.

            It was a long time before Pesmerga moved.  It may have been hours, it may have been days.  He couldn't count.  His mind was preoccupied with too many other things, all of them playing themselves out at once.

            He could only lie curled up in the straw, clutching at his drifting threads of coherent thought and trying desperately to pull them together, forcing himself to relive everything just to find out what had happened.  His naked skin crawled at the memories.  

            _My own flesh and blood.  Yuber...  _

He hurt all over.  Every inch of him was stiff and sore, every muscle exhausted.  His back was worst off, and the ankle he'd injured earlier wasn't much better.  He pushed himself up on shaking arms, and examined the swollen, bruised joint.  He didn't make any decision on it one way or the other.  He looked at it as hard as he could, but didn't see much of anything.  He was still stuck in the replay.

            _Yuber..._

He felt cold, filthy, and violated.  He felt used, and useless, helpless in the empty barn.  Yuber had gone, laughing at Pesmerga's pitiful, quivering weakness.  That mocking laughter still rang painfully clear even now.  And if there was one thing Pesmerga hated more than anything else, it was feeling weak and helpless.

            _He knew that.  That's why he did it._

He grasped onto that hatred, focused it.  It seemed to help, sending the ghosts in his mind running for cover in the face of its intensity.

He reached for his blood stained clothing, and found it to be dry.  How long had he been out of it?  He crawled from the darkness of shock and fear, his thoughts finally coming back clear.

            He grimaced as he pulled the clothes on.  They reeked of mud, rain, and blood.  But he couldn't bring himself to walk from here to the house in nothing but a horse blanket—the only other scrap of fabric in the place—and he couldn't bring himself to take the _other_ alternative, either.  So he grit his teeth and dealt with it.  He'd be able to change soon enough.

            He stumbled outside, across the field, and up the patio, half expecting to find Yuber around every corner, in every shadow.  Of course he wasn't, but Pesmerga could still feel the weight of those hypnotic, mismatched eyes.  They'd branded him somehow, and he couldn't escape them.  With every thought, they were there, dancing above him in vicious pleasure.  He wrapped his anger around them, like putting a dark shroud over the offending body of a corpse.  And it helped.  A little.

            He didn't look into the scarlet-spattered room on the left, paid no heed to the dull red along the walls.  But he knew they were there nonetheless.  

            _They tried.  They always tried.  They lied to protect him.  They didn't deserve this._

_            But they still lied, _he heard himself admit.  He couldn't accept that.

            _They did not deserve to die this way!_

He fell at the top of the stairs, clutching at the carpet with his head hung in frustration.  How could he possibly be at odds with himself over this?  _No one should die like that!  Even if Mother did—Yuber had no right—How could he?  Was it me?  Was this my fault?_

The finger of accusation that he'd pointed at himself sent a crushing blow though him, like he'd conveniently stood beneath a falling load of bricks.  This... _all _of this... was his fault.  He was the cause of everyone's pain, even his own.  And Yuber was at the center of it.

            _No._

_            ...Yes._

            _I have to be the one to set this right, then.  I will be the one to fix this.  _He clung to his familiar hatred, one of only two things Yuber had left with him.  The other was the bitter memory of that night.  Of his one moment when the single person he thought he'd always be able to best had somehow turned the tables on him, and had left him painfully vulnerable.  Everything else was gone.  _Dead and gone._

_            I'll chase him to the ends of the earth, if that's what it takes.  I will kill him.  Even if it ends up being the death of me, I don't care.  Just as long as I can feel his blood run between my hands, from my blade.  _He shivered._  He won't take me like that twice, and he'll pay for the first time.  _

_            He'll pay for _everything.


	2. Chrysalis

Chapter 2 – Chrysalis 

Pesmerga tossed the bridle on top of the worn saddle with a muted jingle, and hit the man behind the counter with a querying look.  "How much will you give me for those?"

After inspecting the goods, the man shook his head.  "You won't get much.  You're probably better off keeping them and seeing if you can trade them somewhere for better."  

Pesmerga frowned a little.  "Don't have a use for them.  My horse died a few days back, and I've been trying to find a place to just get rid of them.  They're a pain to carry."

With a sigh of sympathetic understanding, the merchant counted out the few coins he could give—and he was being generous.  A short nod of thanks, and Pesmerga was on his way again.  This little village seemed busy with its own comings and goings, and he didn't feel like hanging around for too long.  He made his way west, no particular destination in mind.

The midday sun was brutal at this time of year.  Summer was in full swing, with no sign of an end for at least another two months.  The road that stretched through the rolling plains glimmered as heat rose from its dusty, dry surface.  But Pesmerga really didn't have anywhere else to go, and any other path would have been just as much fun as this one.  He trudged on, shifting the pack on his shoulder every so often.  

_I really miss that horse.  _Not that the going had been much easier _with_ the decrepit old animal, but it was more the company than transportation that he was lacking now.  His last childhood friend was gone, leaving him alone in the world.  _Just like he said.  Bah, I'm still _far_ too predictable._

As Pesmerga walked, he counted up the days in his head.  How long had it been?  Three days since the horse died, almost two weeks after pulling out of... what was the name of that city?  Eh, it didn't matter.  Seven weeks on the road before that brought his total close to two months.  At least, that's as close as he could get.  All the days just ran together for the most part, so it was up to his best estimate.  

_I need to pick routes with towns closer together in the future, _he reminded himself.  The seven week stretch wasn't what he'd have called a picnic.   By the time he'd managed to find a city, he'd been ready to eat grass with the horse and probably smelled about as nice as his equine companion.  _On second thought, the horse probably smelled better.  A _lot_ better.  _He frowned, wiping sweat from his neck with a passing hand.  _At least I know that a road will actually lead somewhere.  _

Though as he stared down the long trail, he knew he couldn't be sure exactly how far that somewhere _was.  _

**

Pesmerga downed the last drops of water from his canteen, resting in the welcome shade of one the few trees dotting the vast expanse of grasslands.  _Damn, does this stupid thing have an _end_?  I've been walking for four days!  _It consoled him to know that he'd passed a few travelers coming the opposite direction.  That meant that there had to be some point up there where he could rest.  He'd come to realize just how much easier having the horse had made it before.  _Taking things for granted again, are we?  _He shook his head, getting to his feet and lugging his pack up to continue on his way.  

Luck was with him today.  A few miles up the road, he shaded his eyes against the sun to catch it glinting off an object in the distance.  He hadn't seen anyone going his direction, so he knew it had to be someone coming towards him.  Or better yet, the shape on the horizon was a destination.  He picked up his pace as best he could, hoping for the latter.

"Hullo!" A cheery man called from atop the ramshackle ox cart, waving a greeting as Pesmerga approached.  "Going to the Temple?"  The driver reined in his beast, pushing the wide brim of his straw hat up to get a better look at the raven-haired man.

Pesmerga regarded the man, presumably a farmer from his simple dress, with a puzzled stare.  "Temple?  No, I was actually hoping to find a town or city nearby.  Can you tell me how far it is to the next one?"

The driver gave a hearty laugh at that.  "It's about eighty leagues back the way you came!  Only thing out here is the Temple, a little more than half an hour's walk west," the man said, gesturing down the road in the specified direction.  

Pesmerga felt like someone had smacked him in the head with a stout plank.  _Lesson number _two_ of this wandering traveler _thing_—ask for directions _before_ you leave civilization.  Good God, I am an idiot.  _

The farmer seemed to notice his predicament.  "I could give you a ride back to the village if you need one," he offered.  As much as Pesmerga knew it was the best option, he still didn't feel all too thrilled about spending at least two days in the company of a total stranger.  _Much less this unbearably chatty farmer._  He shook his head stiffly, declining.

"Does the place have food and water?" he asked, glancing to the west.

The ox driver nodded.  "Yeah, they take care of their guests pretty nicely.  If all you're looking for is supplies and a place to rest up, that'd be your place."  

"Then that's where I'm going.  Thanks for the help."  Without another word, he made for the Temple as the sun began to settle down in the distance.

**

Twilight was heavy in the sky by the time Pesmerga arrived, blanketing the Temple in a hazy bluish half-light.  Stars peppered the deepening purple above him, and a sickle moon hung itself neatly on the line between earth and heaven, rising slowly as the minutes ticked away.  Warm, inviting light spilled from the open door of the Temple, pulling Pesmerga's tired feet towards it, guiding him to his rest.

He climbed the stairs tentatively, unsure of what to expect.  He stopped short of the doorway, looking in and searching for any sign of welcome.

The room beyond him was lit by dozens of hanging paper lamps, strung about the walls in such a way that they efficiently made every corner of the room glow.  It was apparent to him that their placement, no matter how haphazard it appeared, was the product of meticulous calculation and effort.  He had to raise and eyebrow as he stepped inside.  _Monks really _don't_ have anything better to do with their time, do they?  When they're not reading some astrological chart, meditating, or praying, they become interior designers.  _Despite the wry amusement of the thought, the humor itself fell rather flat and there was no smile to be had.  Well, at least he'd tried.

A brush of deep vermilion robes and a calm voice, punctuating the cricket-filled quiet, interrupted his musings.  "Please follow me.  We have been expecting you."

Pesmerga blinked, staring at the young monk with a look of blank confusion.  "Excuse me?"  

"Master Qlon has been expecting you.  Please come this way."  The statement was repeated as if delivered to a very small child, before the monk turned and began walking down the hall.  Pesmerga followed in stunned disbelief.  _This is like something out of a cliché fairy tale.  And I just can't _wait_ to see what happens next._

He was led through a series of wood paneled hallways, each lit with those same colorful, glowing paper lamps.  One final corner, and he stood in a larger, opened room.  In the center of the far wall was a marble shrine, and sitting before it was a hunched over figure with his back to the door and the two intruders.

"So he has come."

The young monk nodded with a half bow.  "Yes, Master."

"Good.  Then leave us, please."

Pesmerga's 'guide' bowed again, and scurried off to parts unknown, leaving the raven-haired man alone with the imposing presence before him.

The monk shifted slightly, then turned around completely, each move careful and painstaking.  Pesmerga could see how old he was, even before he looked up to reveal the folds around his eyes and tightly drawn mouth.  But despite his frail appearance, the old monk was a power to be reckoned with.  In the way he held his bunched, slouching frame to the fire that burned in his dark eyes, to the creases etched into his brow from decades of pondering questions too deep for the mortal soul to understand—everything about the man conveyed ageless wisdom and strength.  Pesmerga couldn't help but feel a little cowed as those black eyes bored identical holes into him.

"Sit, please."  Though it was said softly and politely, there was no denying that is was a command, loud and clear.  Pesmerga immediately did as told, taking a space on the honey colored floorboards.

The old monk nodded.  "Good.  You listen well so far.  But there is much more to hear, and it may take time.  Perhaps you would like to rest first?  You have traveled a long way, after all."

Pesmerga considered the option, but shook his head after a moment of thought.  "No, I'm leaving first thing in the morning."  He didn't want to spend any more time among these creepy monks than he absolutely had to.  "If you're going to tell me anything, you'd better do it now."

A raised eyebrow.  "Very well, it is your choice."  He shifted his weight again, closing heavy eyelids.  "I will begin.

"Long ago, in ancient times, there was only Darkness.  She was beautiful, and she blanketed the world protectively, like a watchful mother.  But she was alone.  There was no sun, and no moon, and her little world was silent company.  She accepted it at first, but soon began to grow very lonely.  There was no one to hear her long sighs, or to comfort her, and this only made her feel more alone.  She began to weep, letting a single tear fall from her soft, dark cheek.

"The tear shone brightly, and as it drove to the ground, it split and forged itself into Sword and Shield.  Darkness was overjoyed, and drew her children close to her in an embrace, for she was lonely no more.  

"Things went quietly for a time.   But the brothers were prideful and stubborn, neither wanting to admit any weakness to the other.  Their boasting grew loud enough to fill the heavens, rumbling ominously.  Sword claimed, throwing out his chest, that he could pierce through any defense.  Shield crowed, strutting about with his head high, that he could defend against any force.  They fell to bickering, and Darkness found herself frequently stepping in to quell the fighting.

"However, their quarrel escalated beyond her control, and in the midst of a heated argument, Sword struck at Shield.  The battle that followed was long and furious.  The sparks from their weapons flew high and far, so far that they froze and became as diamonds.  The outraged cries of the brothers were thunder in the skies, and as they fought, they pushed up the ground of the smooth earth, making mountains and valleys and plains.

"Bringing their weapons together a final time, the brothers shattered in the wake of their own hatred for each other.  Neither was ever able to overcome the other, and they broke into twenty-seven glittering fragments, littering the world that they had battled on.  Darkness wept for the loss of her children for many long, sleepless nights.  Her tears filled the canyons and valleys, becoming the seas and rivers and lakes.

"She took Sword's spirit, and placed it beside her as a bright, glowing ball.  She took Shield's spirit and placed it on her other side, cool and bright silver.  She then sat between them so they could never fight again.  She gathered the frozen sparks from the battle, collecting them into her arms, and held them close.  The sun, the moon, and the stars were born.  The sun and the moon continue to chase each other, and Darkness still keeps them from catching each other, keeping the balance."

Pesmerga punctuated the monk's tale with a wide, disinterested yawn.  How many times had he heard variations of this one before?  Too many.

"Look, old man, I know this is a good story and all, but what does it have to do with me?  If all you had me stay for was to listen to old legends and kiddy bedtime stories, then I'd rather not.  I have a long way to go in the morning."

The monk shot him a look that froze him solid, smothering any further protest and letting it die in his breast.  "You will stay, and you will listen.  This has everything to do with you.  But it must be explained, else you may be too hasty and too ignorant to understand."  That did the trick, and Pesmerga sullenly set to listening again.

"The twenty-seven fragments of Sword and Shield's bodies became the True Runes, from which all other runes were forged.  The sun or the moon rules each True Rune and in such a way is balance won, keeping the world in harmony.  Some Runes have complimentary Runes, which keep _each other_ in balance, as well.  Such is the case with the Gate Runes, and the Sword and Shield Runes.

"A True Rune chooses its own bearer.  If the Rune tires of its owner, it will actively seek out another to take the host's place.  And if doing so, the balance is thrown off, the complimentary Rune will search for a new owner to tip the scales back to the center again."

The monk paused for a moment, staring deep into Pesmerga's face, as though reading his soul.  And well he may have been.  

"The balance between two True Runes was recently thrown off on a grand scale.  A dangerously powerful Rune, possessed by a weak, broken man, began to search for someone more to its liking.  It had been looking for decades, but it passed up several opportunities in the hope of finding its ideal match.  We watched it closely, for fear of what might happen when it did.  The Rune is chaotic by nature and, without another to check its power, would easily run rampant.  

"We had begun to think it would never be able to find the one person it sought—that this being could not possibly exist.  No one could be born with the kind of potential for chaos the Rune desired.  We were wrong.

"When the Rune took its new host, the entire world shuddered.  The complimenting Rune snapped to attention, and is now striving to find another as perfect to complete itself."  The monk stopped, and his eyes weighed heavily on Pesmerga.

The dark haired man blinked, pointing a finger at himself.  "...Me?"

The old monk nodded gravely.  "I am the current owner of this Rune.  It has been calling out for nearly two months, when its other half flared back to life.  When you neared here, it told me that you were, indeed, the one it wanted.  You _are_ the one it wants."

Pesmerga took a moment to absorb the information, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he tried to piece it all together.  "Look, I'm flattered, but..." He glanced back at the door, checking for an escape route.  "...I have something I have to take care of.  I don't have time to take on any ridiculous holy hero quests."  He stood, starting for the door.

"This is _not_ a choice."

"What?" Pesmerga whirled on the man, outraged.  How dare some _monk_ tell him of his fate?  "My destiny is my own, _old man_, and I'm not buying into this bull about 'being chosen' by some egotistical magic entity.  If it wants a new owner so badly, it's going to have to wait just a little bit longer, because I'm looking for someone, too.  And I don't have time to go chasing after more shadows than I already am."  He stared the monk down, almost daring him to make a move, despite the fact that his mind was screaming at him not to challenge the little old man.

To Pesmerga's surprise, the monk began to chuckle, very softly.  There was a mirthful twinkle in his dark eyes as he smiled up at the defiant, raven-haired man.  "You'll do nicely.  I think it likes you."

Pesmerga bristled.  "Damn it, I _told_ you—"

"And what if I told _you_ that the man who has been taken by the chaotic Rune is the very same man you are hunting?"  

Silence.  Pesmerga felt his muscles tense as the monk continued.

"You could chase him to the far corners of the earth, until you breathe your last breath, and he would still escape you as long as he held that Rune.  If he didn't kill you first."

Pesmerga wanted to find something to say, and groped blindly for words.  But nothing came of it, and in the end he gave up.  The monk's stare softened in sympathy.  

"Perhaps now you would like to sleep, and we will talk more of this in the morning," he offered.

The raven-haired man nodded mutely, but made no move to leave just yet.  He turned it over in his mind, again and again.

"This Rune... will it help me find him?  Will it help me...  kill him?" His voice returned to him at last, sounding far off and hollow. 

The monk shrugged a little in response.  "Perhaps.  It is possible."  

That made up his mind for him, and no further hesitation was necessary.  He shifted his weight as he turned, and held out his right hand before the old monk.  "Give it to me."

**

Pesmerga slugged his way out of a nightmare riddled sleep, rubbing at raw, red-rimmed eyes.  The night had not been pleasant.  He could easily see, now, why the withered old man had given off such a powerful presence.  He lifted his marked palm to his face, peering at it disdainfully.

He felt more alive, sleep deprived though he was, than he had for what seemed ages.  He guessed it was the Rune's doing.  As he pulled his clean clothes over his clean, refreshed skin with a sigh, he picked through his newfound memories in a search for useful information.

The Rune had no name that he could find.  It had no elemental affinity.  It was, however, what Pesmerga could best describe as obsessive compulsive.  And it was very, _very_ powerful about it.

The Rune was exactly what the monk had said it was—the opposite of chaos.  It yearned for order and absolution, and had been perfectly willing to use its previous hosts to accomplish that end.  And in doing so, often caused chaos in the process.  It was bloodthirsty, in its own way, and Pesmerga felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled the images that had flooded his mind during the night.  Some of them were his own memories, and more than a few were those of the old monk, but most belonged to men long since dead.  As he filtered through the broken minds of the Rune's past owners, it began to dawn on him exactly what he'd gotten himself into.  The Rune would not let anything stand in the way of accomplishing a particular task, so long as the end was desirable.  The ends always justified the means.

Which, in this case, suited Pesmerga just fine.

The sun was just beginning to peek though the window of his guest quarters as he slipped out the door.  He did his best to be quiet, and to leave unnoticed and uninterrupted.  He made his way to the front gates, and was almost surprised to find the old monk waiting for him, with a few parting gifts.  

"The mule has at least a month's supplies in her packs, to see you to your next destination." He pointed to the east, the direction the raven-haired man had come from, as he handed Pesmerga the lead line to the patiently waiting animal.  "She's no saddle horse, but if you need to ride, she should be able to carry you for at least short distances.  But please be kind to her.  Also, there is this..." The old man stepped aside to reveal a pack, separated from the rest.

When he pulled back the flap, Pesmerga nearly felt his jaw drop open at what lay inside.  Beautifully crafted armor, wrought of black steel and trimmed with gold, glowed softly in the rising sun.  He blinked up at the monk, speechless.

"It is enchanted.  It has been blessed by the wind and the darkness, kissed by silence.  May it serve you well." The monk stepped aside to let him pass through the gate, with a slight bow.  "Take care, and whatever you do... do not let the Rune erase who you are.  It would gladly take your soul if you let it."

Pesmerga nodded solemnly, and after a polite bow in response, he was on his way again.

_Now.  With this, now we are even.  You are mine, Yuber._

_I'm coming._

_**_

_Now with shiny new author's notes!_

1~ Does this chapter look shorter to you?  That's because it is.  It took me forever and a day just to write this much.  XD  I could not for the life of me get through this chapter.  /sigh/.  The next one will be better.  And longer.  I promise.

            2~ Look, ma!  Yet another retelling of the Sword and Shield legend!  I embellished a bit, to give it a little character.

            3~ Ending the chapter with Pesmerga thinking will not become a trend.  Really.


	3. Burning Embers

Chapter 3 – Burning Embers 

The sun glowered dimly at the end of the world, reluctantly sinking into darkness as night fell.  The yowling chorus of wild hounds leapt on the cooling breeze, filling the sky and reaching for the rising moon.  The grasslands swayed to the sounds of crickets and night singing birds, teeming with life while the rest of the world slept in peaceful dreams.

Dreams can become nightmares.  Songs turn to screams.  Life yields to death.  And everything can be destroyed with the simplicity of a single action.  As was the case with Sword and Shield, or so the legend goes.

Yuber stood amidst the endless fields, staring up at the stars.  Silence was all around him, as it always was.  No creature dared make a move while he was near.  The plains, lively though they were in the distance, may as well have been a wasteland where he walked.  The immediate quite was a little unsettling.  The stars offered no help, either, as they kept their stoic, steadfast vigil within their soft dark blanket.

He might have shrugged if there had been anyone to observe it, and shook his head a little.  Stargazing was getting him nowhere.  

Not that I really have anywhere to go, of course...  

He walked on, picking a direction at random and going with it.  The half moon poured pale blue light on the plains, lighting his way efficiently.  The road he followed was little more than a game trail, winding lazy through the grasslands without much of a destination in mind.  But aside from the worn little rut through the sea of grass, there was little else in the way of landmarks.  A tree or two dotting the landscape, a patch of shrub, and a couple of good-sized rocks had been the extent of scenery in the last four days.  That was fine.  There'd be a road soon.  Or a town.  Or _something_.  And even if there wasn't... well, that was fine, too.

Yuber often wondered, with a dark smile snaking across his lips, what had become of Pesmerga.  In the three months since he had left him cowed and broken in the barn stall, he had seen neither hide nor hair of his half-brother.  Still, he knew Pesmerga was alive.  The Rune told him that much.  

It told him so many other things, as well.  It was constantly in his mind, its whisper only just loud enough to hear within the confines of his consciousness.  It was loudest when he slept, if one could call his fevered nightmares sleeping.  The tormented pasts of the Rune's previous caretakers clawed at him through the hours, giving him no rest.  He'd awakened several times screaming in the night, drenched with cold sweat and panting in wide-eyed horror at the things that lived in his borrowed memories.

He opted instead to avoid sleeping all together.  And to his surprise, it seemed the decision wasn't going to be a problem.  Sleep had become unnecessary, as had eating.  That was a relief unto itself, because he'd also discovered that he could taste very little anymore.  He recalled the last thing he'd forced down had tasted much like old shoe leather, only blander.  He craved nothing and his stomach didn't notice the lack of food.  Everything was fueled by the Rune, the only driving force in his life now.

_Except that I need a bath.  Ugh, I can't stand to be dirty—much less _filthy_.  A village would be greatly appreciated any day now.  Or some rain in this god-forsaken land.  _He was sharply aware of the miles of dust and grime he'd accumulated on his travels.  It clung to him like a second skin, making his light tan appear far darker than it was in reality.  He'd bathed in the last stream he'd found, a little more than a week before, but the water had been numbingly cold.  _At this point, I'd settle for a _puddle_ if it got me clean.  _

He held that thought over, picturing himself rolling around—stark naked—in a puddle like a mischievous puppy.  A grin split his face.  _The things I think of to keep myself entertained.  _

There was movement in the tall grass behind him, and the sound of something undeniably _large shifting its weight was loud in the otherwise silent area around Yuber.  He paused, stopping to listen more closely.  _

_The drought is driving the animals to desperation, it seems.  He could smell the rancid stench of a carnivore, even standing upwind of the beast.  It was old blood and death, dry and lifeless.  He wasn't sure how much of it belonged to the prey and how much belonged to the predator itself.  He wouldn't be able to tell until he turned around to face his would-be attacker._

_Be careful.  You're not armed.  Don't do anything exceptionally stupid.  He was almost regretting not bringing the sword along now.  He slowly inched his body around, forcing his muscles to remain relaxed.  If he tensed up, the animal would sense it.  He'd lose the upper hand.  _

He gazed into the grasses, picking out a slim tan form in the moonlight.  The lioness raised her disheveled head, locking her golden eyes with Yuber's mismatched ones.  

She was a little more than five yards off, and without trying too hard, Yuber could tell the drought had, indeed, hit her hard.  She was little more than a skeleton, with her tawny pelt hanging loosely from her bones.  Dried, caked mud and matted bloodstains lined her underbelly, chest, and legs.  Her eyes were a little glazed over, and it was apparent that trying to bring down Yuber was her last ditch effort at survival.

"I'm sorry, great lady.  I can't help you," he said softly to the cat, holding out a hand.  He was sympathetic for the creature's pitiful shape.  No doubt she had once been a proud hunter.  Once she had likely reveled in the shedding of blood, and even now still thirsted for the kill.  Only now, she was a broken thing, standing on her last legs.

"You and I wouldn't have been so very different, once."  The lioness' ears flicked a few times at the sound of his voice, and she looked torn between fight or flight as she shifted her weight back a pace.  She lifted her nose to smell the air between them, unsure of the strange creature before her.

_The least I can do is give her a merciful death.  Starvation is a hell of a way to go.  He stood perfectly still, waiting for her to come to him and his outstretched hand.  "It's all right.  I'll set you free."_

The cat took a shaky step towards him, and another, her whiskers quivering.  She hesitated when she reached him, looking up at him with a questioning expression on her feline face.  He smiled as gently as he could, but made no further move.  She nudged her head into Yuber's hand, putting her instincts aside and letting herself trust him.

"You'd only have faced the same problem later, even if you'd killed me," he remarked conversationally, kneeling to come to her level.  She purred as he scratched her behind the ears, closing her eyes and thrumming deep in her chest.  "Now you can be the beautiful killer you were once, untouched by your weakness.  Go with peace, my lady."

With one easy yank, he snapped her neck.  She shuddered in his hands, the last shivering purr running up his fingertips and into his arms.  He let her slide to the ground slowly and left her to rest, moving on into the coming day as the moon set behind him.

**

Shen wiped a stray coffee spot from her buff feathers with a sigh as she set the tray of dirty dishes on the counter and bustled off to get more.  For once the duck was grateful to have the dull, drab feathers that she did, instead of the stark white the men folk had back home.  

_Home, huh.  That's a funny name for a place I never visit anymore, despite Mother and Father's letters telling me that I should.  Ah, well, maybe for the holidays.  I like it here.  Everything is so different than in Grassland.  It does get much colder there in the winter, since it's further North._

She wiped down a recently vacated table, taking pride in the fact that the inn was actually quite busy today, and that the customers were happy.  Happy customers meant bigger tips, and that made for a _very_ happy Shen.

After resetting the table with clean flatware and utensils, she paused for a minute to see if there were any tables with waiting patrons she hadn't helped yet.  

_Got them, just checked on table three, refilled drinks at table twelve, cleared table six... _

_ –!  Ah, there's someone new there!  Time to go to work. _

Table six was the darkest table in the house, set back in the dimly lit far corner of the room.  It was often easy to miss customers there unless they were in large groups or wearing light colors; both of which were absent in this case.  

_They've probably had a long day and just want some peace and quiet.  Okay, then.  Friendly, but not overly perky.  I don't want to make a bad day worse.  _

"Good evening and welcome to the Inn of the Dreaming Song," she said, rummaging in her apron for pencil and paper without really looking at the customer yet.  "My name is Shen, and I'll be your server toni—" 

The duck trailed off as her round blue eyes adjusted to the lack of light.  She could see him now.  He was lanky, but deceptively so.  She felt a strange, wild power smoldering inside him, barely bridled.  It wasn't unlike the magic that the village rune sage had used back home, only it was _far more terrifying.  His clothes were what could best be described as travel worn, faded from sun and dirt, and she could smell the earthen scent of the plains on them even standing at a distance.  Bestial parti-colored eyes, one red, one grey-blue, stared back from beneath draggletail locks of platinum blond hair, bleached by days in the sun._

_He's obviously no Grasslander… but these plains have certainly left their mark on him.  Ack!  Finish your sentence and quit gawking!_

"…T-tonight.  Can I offer you anything to drink before your meal?" She cursed her stammer but was determined to salvage her good manners.

The strange man shook his head, silent.  His gaze never left her for a moment, and he made no other move.  

Shen began to feel the weight of those eyes, and felt her feathers start to floof out—they always did that when she was nervous.  She fought to keep them down, trying not to grind her beak.  "Is there anything else I can get for you, then, sir?"

"I'm sure I should have seen someone about this before I sat down." His voice was a smooth, eerily soft tenor.  "Would it be possible to get a room for the night and a hot bath?"  The blond leaned just a little closer as he spoke, seeming to take interest in her rising feathers.

"Oh, certainly!  I can arrange that for you and bring you the key with your order—that is…"  She trailed off as he tilted his head to the side the slightest bit, still watching.  She was confused and unsettled by his curious demeanor, though it distracted from her prior nervousness enough that her feathers smoothed again, much to the stranger's amusement.   "Um… is something the matter?"

A hint of a smile flitted across his intimidating features, youthful though they were.  "I've never seen anyone quite like you before."

_Ahhh__, well that__ explains it.  She smiled, feeling much more at ease.  "And I doubt you will again this far from Grassland.  Not many of us wind up this far away from home."_

"'Us'?"  The stranger rested his head atop folded hands as he leaned his elbows on the table, looking quite predatory despite his good natured interest.  Or at least, what Shen could only _assume was good natured interest._

She nodded.  "Yep, 'us'—the Duck Clan.  We're one of the Eight Great Clans of Grassland.  Mostly we stay within our borders, but I wanted to travel and seek my fortune in other lands."  She sighed with a beaky grin.  "How I wound up here, I'll never know."  The duck held out a feathered palm.  "Name's Shen, as I said before."

The man gripped it in a brief but firm handshake.  "Yuber," was all he said.

"Well, then.  I'll get that room set up for you, and you think of anything you want to eat."  With a polite half-bow, she hurried off to her tasks.  

**

Yuber let his body slide into the hot water slowly, noticing he wasn't nearly as stiff as he thought he should have been—though his previous shower had proven him to be at least three times as dirty as he should have been.  

_If I had gotten in the bath first, it would have been a mud _bath with all the grunge I was covered in.__

The bathhouse was empty by now, as late as it had become.  Though when he had first entered, he'd managed to garner a sidelong glance from a lingering bather.  And that glance had quickly turned into something of more than passing fancy when the blond had stripped to shower.  Yuber had entertained the thought of playing on the man's interest and seeing where it led, but when he'd turned to get a better look, the man had already made his exit.  

_Ah, well.  I'm sure I could always find other means of amusing myself.  He looked around the empty bathhouse, the quiet silence of the large room descending on his ears.  The air was thick and humid, making each breath feel labored and deliberate, like he had a weight sitting on his chest.  But it wasn't a discomfort, only a curious sensation.  He let every muscle relax in the water's embrace, drifting in the solitude, content to think of nothing but the quiet.  _

He didn't realize someone had flitted in and out until he heard the door shut.  He sat up, looking to his right to find a stack of clean towels and a note on the bench.  

"_Mr. Yuber- Have turned down your sheets.  Your room is ready, and I had your clothes cleaned for you.  Please have a pleasant stay.  Sincerest regards- Shen."  _

The blond was absolutely puzzled.  _I didn't pay for any of this.  I never even ordered food or drink despite her pestering about it.  So why the extra service?  Huh.   He pulled himself out of the bath and took advantage of the hospitality, toweling dry with the soft, plush fabric._

It was a fairly short trek from the bathhouse to the rooms themselves.  The two places were separate buildings, connected by an open-air hall through the courtyard.  The late summer air was cool against his bare skin as he strode across the smooth path in the moonlight, one towel around his waist discreetly and another slung across his shoulder.  His damp golden hair trailed behind him like a heavy cape as he walked.

He'd left the room unlocked; after all, what valuables did he have?  Some worn clothes.  He had doubts about anyone who'd really want to steal _those_.  He opened the door to black silence and let his eyes adjust to the lack of light.  The dark wasn't more than a bother, really.  He could pick out things in sharp tones of grey, but they were shady and lacked any real depth.  He found a box of matches and a lamp on the small desk next to the bed.  

He set the lamp to its lowest setting and stretched out across the comfortable bed, not bothering to dress.  It could wait until the morning.

He let his thoughts wander carelessly into the unknown of the Eightfold Rune's memories.  They didn't scorch like they had before.  He'd finally grown accustomed to their shadows, flitting in and out of his conscious thought each day.  He'd been growing bold, these past few weeks, every night spending a little more time among them, learning their secrets and watching the events of a dozen or so lives pass his eyes.

So many of them had been ordinary people.  Petty thieves, soldiers, and a couple of rag tag vagabonds made up the lot of them.  Some had been such before the Rune, and some only became what they were after they'd come to 'own' it.  He idly compared himself to them all, and was curious.  Out of all of them, he was the only one with such a… wasted past, he might have called it.  _And I wonder why?_

~_"Because you are perfect."__~_

Yuber instantly recognized the Rune's 'voice', though it was much more coherent than it had ever been.  Rather than only whispering vaguely, this time its words were clear and resonating in his mind.  He closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts back at the 'voice.'

_Perfect?  How am I any more perfect than those others?_

_~"You have a darkness within you.  It drives you.  It **is** you… Yuber."~ _

In his mind's eye, he saw himself standing in field of nothing, and stretched out before him was the Eightfold Rune.  It appeared as a great dragon, long and slender as a curve.  Its scales were blood and fire; deep, dark, and mercilessly red.  Its amber eyes glowed covetously as it looked upon the blond, a greedy smile snaking across its elegant, tapering muzzle.  It stretched tattered black wings lazily, twining its tail around Yuber with an absolutely sinister purr.  

_~"Yes… perfect."~ It released him from its brief caress, smirking at him from one glinting golden eye.  _~"Do you know who I am, my servant?"~__

"You are the Eightfold Rune."  He had intended to only think it, but found a voice inside the illusion.  "Beyond that, I haven't learned much."

The beast chuckled.  _~"No, you have not.  But that is through no fault of your own.  I have never cared to reveal my nature before this, for it has never suited me to lend my true power to those who were ultimately unworthy.  And then, by chance, you came to me.  You are beyond worthy.  You are—"_

"Yes, yes, you told me.  Perfect."  Yuber folded his arms over his chest imperiously.  "So what _are_ you, then?"

The Rune was silent for a moment, and Yuber got the impression it was raising an eyebrow at the blond's impertinent demand.  It rustled it wings, shifting its nonexistent weight before beginning again.  _~"I am the Crimson King.  I am disorder, discord, disharmony, dismay.  I am Chaos in its most pure incarnation."~ _It leaned its slender head close, dropping its 'voice' to a mere whisper.  _~"And you, Yuber, are my servant.  Do not ever forget that.  Your right eye is your proof of your fealty, my mark upon your being that will be far more difficult to hide than the triviality upon your palm.  Your immortality is a boon, your power is borrowed.  And you** will**—not 'may'—be asked to return those favors on numerous occasions.  But the power you have unlocked rivals that of even such great Runes as the Beginning, the Judgment, the Black Rune, or the Gate."~_

The names meant very little to Yuber.  He shook his head, unimpressed.  "And what am I supposed to do with all this power you promise when I'm not using it to further your ends?  I have no use for it."  

The dragon cackled harshly.  _~"No** use** for it, perhaps.  But I can already **feel you hunger for it.  You're like a mongrel slavering over an offered bone.  You may know that you do not need it, but you also know that you **want** it.  And who wouldn't?  But aside from that, you should listen to the rest before you shrug off my gifts so thoughtlessly."~**_

_~"I have a brother… a 'mirror Rune,' if you read by the scrolls of the Sindar, or an 'other half' in simple rune sage terms.  He is the Order to my Chaos.  And he rules over one you know very, very well.  This one is quite eager to do my brother's bidding without question, if only to pursue the sole remaining purpose in his life.  My brother has set him on your heels, my servant, and he is relentless in his pursuit."~_

The blond had no difficulty guessing who the 'one' the Rune spoke of was. "Pesmerga."

_~"Aye, your half brother by blood.__  It is ironic, is it not?"~ _At Yuber's stubborn silence, the beast's grin only became slyer.  _~"My brother sending your brother as his Black Knight to destroy **you, my Black Knight.  A hunt of Fate and destiny, I would say."  **_It rolled on its side, watching Yuber with an almost coy interest.  _~"Make no mistake; without my power, you will never outmatch him now.  And we both know that would be… unacceptable."~_

"Damn."  Yuber clenched his fists.  _The Rune's right.  I can't let him best me, not after all of this.  Not after I've come so far._

_~"Of course you can't.  So long as he doesn't catch you unawares, I don't intend for you to let him have you, either.  You are too perfect to waste so soon."~_

_~"So what say you…my Black Knight?"~_

_**_

Yuber only realized he'd been sleeping when the sound of distant thunder stole him away from the conversation with the Rune.  He glanced down at his branded right hand, and felt it tingling—as it had tingled when he'd killed Sylvia.  He frowned at it, knowing the 'Crimson King' still waited for an answer.  But he forced it to the back of his mind as the thunder persisted without pause.  __

He snatched up his clothes, grateful to the duck lady that she had cleaned them, and dressed as quickly as possible.  He threw the door open and listened in the predawn light.

_Hoof beats.  Dozens—perhaps hundreds.  And they're headed this way at a hard gallop._

The blond knew no army would be headed this way at such a pace so early, even if there _had been a war going on in three hundred miles.  That left the next logical choice.  __Raiders._

He left his room, wandering from the inn and into the little village's main street.  _Figure I can at least stick around and see if I'm right._  He slipped between two buildings, hiding in the plentiful shadows for the time being.  If things got out of hand, he'd simply leave.

Once the horsemen arrived, it didn't take long for things to get to that point.  At least eighty riders pounded into the town, setting fire to the eaves and looting as they went.  Women were dragged screaming from the buildings to be dishonored before the very eyes of their children, their husbands cut down and bloodying the dirt.  Yuber was glad he'd left the inn—it was one of the first places hit.

However, he found himself compelled to stay, instead of quietly making his way out of town as he'd first planned.  The fires sang the hymns of carnage, hot and hungry as they reached out to scorch the last morning stars.  Blood flashed in his vision, its metallic taint corrupting his senses.  It overwhelmed his scent and taste until it was nearly all he knew.  He watched the destruction in heady fascination, feeling the Rune strive within him.  

_So why don't you do something, if you want to join in so bad?  Why not just command me and have your fun.  … Unless you **can't****.  He smirked to the Rune, knowing he had the upper hand.  For all the dragon's threats and mighty talk, it could still not do more than be an observer and a power source, though an influential one at best.  It could not make his body move if **__he did not choose to.  _Well.  Take **that**, you arrogant bastard.  _He 'heard' the Rune snarl at him, and that only made his smile all the wider._

"Hey, boss!  What the hell is this thing?"

"Let go of me, you monster!" 

Yuber's head snapped to attention, and he peered through the dust and smoke to see the scene unfolding in the street.  The duck lady Shen was held on either side by two hulking bandits, being dragged towards a single man still on horseback.  The leader, presumably.  He listened, eyes narrowing in concentration as he tried to focus around his wired senses.  

"Hell, I don't know.  Bring it along—it'll make a good pet," the mounted man guffawed, much to the amusement of the first two.  Shen thrashed and struggled, shouting a stream of curses heated enough to make the fires themselves wince.  Still, her escape efforts went for naught, and she was soon spent.

"Please… please let me go," she whimpered, still feebly trying to free herself of the bandits' iron grips.  

Yuber didn't know what made him step out of the alley.  Maybe it was the fact that the duck had been considerate to him, and hadn't expected anything in return for her kindness.  That was an astonishingly rare thing as far as Yuber was concerned—very few people had ever done something like that, no matter how simple it was, for his sake.  

Or it could have just been that she was sobbing pathetically by now, and it was grating on his nerves.  The raiders hadn't killed her and gotten it over with, but didn't intend to gag their new hostage-turned-pet either, it seemed.

"You heard the lady.  I think she requested that you let her go."  He kept his voice calm as he made his presence known, allowing no trace of emotion to slip into his bluff.  And a bluff it was, he realized too late.  The bandit leader barked a laugh and whistled shortly, calling his men.  Not more than a breath later, more than half the troop was moving in on him.  And every single one of them had a weapon of some kind.  

_Damn it, I **knew I should have brought that sword!**_

Not that it would really have done him a lot of good, he recalled wryly.  _If I'm going to live through this to see that eternity the Rune promised, I am **really going to have to work on my swordsmanship—wait, that's it!  **_A thought occurred to him, wild with the fierce desire to survive.__

_All right, beastie, it's time to see what you can **really** do._

He held his marked hand out to the circle of rough and ragged cutthroats, and grinned maliciously at them all.

"…_I _accept_."_

**

It's that time again… Author's Notes!

1~ When Shen talks about the **Eight Great Clans of Grassland, these are the ones she's talking about—there's the Sindar, the Duck Clan, the Lizard Clan, Alma Kinan, the Karaya, the clan that becomes LeBuque after the occupation of Harmonia, the Chisha, and one other 'lost clan,' forgotten in the records but really not having any impact on this story whatsoever.  I figure that it's 300 some years before Suikoden III, so there can be eight clans instead of six.  I know that some of you were saying, "Huh?  But there are only six clans…" at that point.  Or you could have just said, "Wtf?" like my brother did.  Either way, now you know.**

            2~ A bit of insight into my thoughts on the Eightfold Rune… throughout this fic, you'll see me referring the Rune as the 'Crimson King.'  This is an allusion to two things.  First and foremost, the symbolism I've associated with the Rune is heavily tied into Stephen King's villain from his book, **Insomnia**, the Crimson King.  Now, I'm not a big King fan, personally.  However, I flipped through the book and my attention was caught by so many similarities between Yuber, his Rune, and this particular entity.  King denotes those in service of the Crimson King as having a red 'eye' somewhere on their person—Yuber does, indeed, have one red eye.  It is hinted that the Crimson King is Chaos itself, which has also been said about the Eightfold Rune.  The other allusion is to one of my favorite bands, King Crimson, mostly just because I can (incidentally, I only found King Crimson the band by accident, recognizing the name as the name of Pesmerga's sword from game II).  If you're wondering about the problem about Yuber and Pesmerga's sword names (like, they're the same, and then they'd be, like, the same as the Rune-thing, and like, that'd be confusing…) worry no more.  It'll all be explained in coming chapters.  You'll just have to come back.  /smirks deviously/

            3~ Speaking of Runes… or is it runes?  Yes, the two are used differently.  When I capitalize it ("Rune"), it will be used as a proper noun or when describing a True Rune.  When it is lowercase ("rune"), it's only in reference to a normal rune, or anything to do with runes in general (ex: rune sage, rune hand).  Just so no one's too hung up about that.


	4. Backdraft

Chapter 4 - "Backdraft" 

Phantom lights flashed against the darkness of Yuber's tightly closed eyes.  His body moaned in a painful chorus.  Dust coated his lungs and made him cough.  He flexed his fingers, finding the soft earth yield to the slight, feeble movement.  He cracked his eyes open, blinking a crust of dirt away.

Ash.  Fine, white ash blanketed the ground.  Still it fell, veiling the town in fuzzy, dreamlike snow.  Only...

_Where **is **the town??_

Quickly, Yuber recounted the events of seemingly moments ago, sprawled in the velvet ash carpet. 

The Rune had errupted from its dark niche, blinding Yuber and searing his body in savage, eager fire as it poured its power into him.  He had become little more than its vessel, the tool it exerted its will through. He could see himself, now, as if he were an onlooker watching an actor in some twisted play.  There was a brilliant flash of hot, white light--

--and then nothing more.  Until now, looking at the ash.  The ash that had once been an entire _village_. 

_I... this is not what I wanted.  This... why?  Why?!  _He screamed at the Rune, knowing full well it could 'hear' him.  It didn't give an answer, but Yuber had the distinct impression that he could feel it wearing its familiar, smug grin.

He pushed himself up on his knees, but got no further.  He stared numbly into the falling white rain, his hands clenching into tight fists.  He didn't know what to feel.  He wasn't sure he felt _anything_, other than used.  A tangle of conflicting emotions snarled and rolled in his gut.  Anger was most prevalent-- anger at himself, at the Rune, at the bandits...  but beneath it was a nervous fear.

_What have I given myself over to...?_

There was another feeling, too, underlying it all like some cleverly disguised poison, bleeding into him a little bit at a time until it consumed him.  He couldn't put a finger on what it was, though.

Until a few charred, light brown feathers—Shen's feathers—drifted by his hands, skittering across the ash field as if they had been waiting to give him the answer.  They silently spelled out the words in a nameless tongue, meant for him and him alone.  And the words were grave and clear in the empty silence, falling like a death sentence on his ears.

Loathing.  Regret.  _Guilt_.

As he watched the feathers, he felt all his pride and courage collapse as he caved in on himself.  He wrapped his arms around himself so tightly it hurt, shuddering with breathless, coughing sobs.  As the tears caressed his pale, horrified cheeks, he could hear the dragon laughing.  He cringed in the face of his glaring, hideous mistake.

_Who's the monster now, Shen?_

**_...._**

Pesmerga nearly felt his head disconnect from his spine as he snapped from his dozing.  His right hand had flared to life, tingling fiercely as though he'd deprived it of blood.  The Rune hammered at his skull, repetitive and constant in its efforts to make its will known.  It was a simple command, unspoken but readily understandable. 

He tugged on the mule's halter, leading her in the Rune's specified direction.  To the northeast, where the land was wailing, trembling from the fury of an unleashed power.  Where he knew he had to go.  Where Yuber was.

**....**

"A pretty thing like you shouldn't be covered in such filth."

Yuber started, blinking through the ash to see a vague shape walking towards him.  He scrambled to his feet, only then realizing that his clothing was scorched and ruined.  He tensed, ready to make a run for it if the need should present itself.

The shadow separated from the grey, becoming the slender figure of a woman.  She was elegantly dressed, in tranquilly contrasting tones of blues.  Her mousey, pale brown hair was tied up in an intricate tail.  Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle, and she wore the faintest hint of a smile on her small, dainty lips.

"You've certainly made fitting work of this disgusting collection of hovels, I must say."  She walked up to him, nearly matching him in height, and dusted ash from his shoulders brusquely.  "Tsk.  Though you're not in much better shape yourself, are you?  Someone should teach you a little control."

Yuber bristled indignantly, a little of his familiar bitterness resurfacing.  "Who the hell are _you_ to tell me—"

She frowned, extending her right hand.  Yuber was knocked to the ground—a good twenty feet from where he was before—with the air robbed from his lungs. 

"_I_ am called Windy, the bearer of the Front Gate Rune, and I can teach you the control you need.  Besides your rune, I mean.  You have quite a temper, and it could stand some curbing."  She arched a delicate eyebrow as she stood over his coughing body, arms folded.  "If you come with me, I can help you.  Before your power destroys you."

Those last words struck home with a grim sort of weight.  His hands were buried in the soft grey consequences of his mistake.  The thought of taking the woman up on her offer left a sour taste in his mouth; he hated being blackmailed into anything, and this sure _felt_ like blackmail.  But at the same time, he knew that she was right.  He needed to be trained, or the Rune would swallow him. 

_And of course she's the only one available and willing to do it.  As much as I don't want to… _

"What happens if I do?"  He found his breath again, lurching to his feet to a chorus of aching muscles.  He stared her down, mismatched eyes barely holding back his anger.

"If you do, I will not only teach you how to make better use of your Rune, but I will also give you a warm place to stay, food and clothing, and answer all your questions"

_I very much doubt that you can_.

"What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.

She laughed with mirth in her voice at his dark scowl.  "I was hoping you would ask, actually.  The 'catch' is that, in return for _my_ help, you lend me yours."

He looked dubious, eyeing her warily.  She continued.

"Don't look so worried; you won't be made into a slave, or a lowly servant.  You'll be left to your own devices for the most part, free to come and go of your own accord.  Unless I need you, that is."

_There it is.  I was wondering when she'd get to the point.  _"Need me for what, exactly?  I'm not going to make any kind of 'bargain' before I know the details."  He wasn't about to let her back him into any corners, either.  He was getting tired of playing this game.

Windy gave in.  "I'm gathering the power of the twenty-seven True Runes.  As much as I would like to believe otherwise, I know that I can't do it by myself.  So I'm… recruiting.  Your Rune is nearly as powerful as the Gate—I can use that power, once properly directed."

Yuber snorted derisively, with a shake of his head.  "So you want to use me."

"Not use you, my friend, not at all.  More like 'hire' you.  You'll be paid a salary for your service, the same as any military general.  Yes, general.  You don't think we're going to come by all of those Runes without a fight, do you?"  She smiled as she saw that she was starting to convince him with every new offer.

The blond smirked sarcastically.  "And how many of these True Runes do you have so far?"

Windy shifted uncomfortably, her smile fading in irritation.  "Well, none yet, but…"

"Uh-huh."  He was not impressed and made no secret of it.  _But if she can teach me how to use this goddamn thing in my hand… it doesn't sound like such a bad deal.  And I really don't have anything else to do with my time, do I?  Still… I'd better not be getting into something I'll regret._

"All right.  You show me how to put this beast in its place, and I'll help you out."  He held out his hand.  She took it with a bright, cheerful shake.  Yuber felt a tingle as their runes touched, a meeting of monsters in the dark.

**....**

"How many times are you going to do it wrong before you learn?"  Windy sighed, every bit as frustrated as Yuber. 

The blond growled at her, fed up.  "If you're so damned smart, then _you_ do it!  I've tried, and it's obvious that I'm not going to get it!"  Yuber turned away, leaning one arm on the wall of the practice room.  He'd done the exercise at least twenty times already, and was ready to just say 'screw it all' and turn the Rune on Windy—it was seething at the both of them, roiling like a raging sea.  If it was pissed off, he couldn't exactly blame it.

Windy crossed the sand floor, uncluttered except for the two of them.  "If you can't learn to focus and put your emotions under lock and key, then you won't ever be able to control the Eightfold Rune.  We've already had two near-disasters, and now that you're angry in actuality and not just in abstract, things could get ugly in a hurry.   The Rune channels easily through strong emotions, chaotic emotions—and it's trying especially hard to fight you because you're attempting to master it.  You have to calm down, and then we'll try it again.  It's not that you _can't_ do it, it's that you just need to take a step back and collect yourself."

Yuber glared at her.  "So do you, Windy.  You were the one that snapped at me in the first place."

She nodded and apologized.  "I know this isn't easy—I shouldn't have lost my patience.  I can show you again, if you want."

"You could show me a million times, but it wouldn't really help.  I've seen it, I can feel it… I just have to figure out what the hell I'm doing."  Yuber ran a hand through his long bangs, pushing them from his eyes.  "At least _your_ rune likes you."

She put a hand on his shoulder.  "It wouldn't have chosen you if it didn't 'like' you, though I'm not sure if they are capable of like or dislike.  They only know 'need,' and 'want.'  Or at least, that has been my experience."  Windy glanced down at her own branded palm.  "It deemed you right for the job to carry it, now you must turn the tables and show it who's boss.  Are you ready to try again?"

Yuber took a slow, steadying breath before giving the go-ahead.  _Why do I get the feeling we're going to be at this all night—if not for **days**?  The sooner I get the hang of this, the better.  All right… one more time._

He waited for Windy to step back, theoretically out of range of any mishaps.  She had already had to defend herself twice when the Rune fought him on previous attempts.  He stared hard at the ceramic vase across from him, sitting ever so smugly on its little wooden pedestal.  It was almost as if the pottery was mocking him.

He held his rune hand out, letting it hang suspended in the air.  He used as little effort as possible to keep it up, holding it neither too stiffly or too weakly.  Windy had said that the need for such precise muscle command would pass as he gained more experience with the Rune, but for now, he needed to save as much energy as possible, even in the smallest ways. 

_Now take that energy and do something with it.  Divert it, feed the beast… just enough so that it pulls at the chain and wants more.  Then don't give it to it until it begs.  A little at a time._

He straightened his palm until it was perpendicular with the floor, closing his eyes in concentration.  He pictured that saved up energy flowing backwards down his veins, pooling in the space before his open hand.  He felt it, like a low-pitched humming just beyond his fingertips.  The sensation wasn't new—he'd gotten this far numerous times before—but it still made his nerves jump in anticipation.

_Calm down, stupid.  You haven't gotten a harness around it just yet.  This is what happened the last few times… you reach for the power too soon, thinking you've won, and it knocks you on your ass.  Pay attention._

Yuber clamped down on his impulses, intoxicated by the tempting call of the dragon.  He cut off the energy-feed with sudden decisiveness.  He was rewarded with a puzzled wave of irritation from the Rune.

"Now what do I do with it?" He kept his voice level and calm, not letting his mind wander from the tugging feeling in his hand as the Rune tried to tap into him. 

Windy nodded in satisfaction.  "Good.  Now direct your thoughts at the vase, and then let the Rune have what it wants, all at once.  But not very much!  Be sure to cut it off again.  Like opening and closing a floodgate."  She held up her reflective ring as she instructed him—just in case.

The blond set his eyes on the pottery, bracing himself. 

_Go._

The Rune pounced eagerly on the surge of energy from its host.  Yuber felt the power hammer into the vase, snaking and twisting invisibly.  Remembering Windy's warning, he slammed the channel shut again, depriving the Rune of its lifeline.  The vase shattered, exploding in a burst of fire.  Yuber staggered backwards as his whole arm threatened to explode with it, reeling as the sudden cut-off pounded through his bones and into his shoulder.

_Thank God it wasn't the left arm... it never really healed like it should have.  Don't think it would have taken that too well.  _He shook the stars from his eyes, 'feeling' the Rune cursing him and cursing right back at it.  _Serves you right, you bastard._

He looked up to see that the vase was little more than fragments of charred pottery littering the practice room floor.  The pedestal it had been sitting on wasn't in much better shape; the top half had been fairly well disintegrated from the looks of it.

Windy surveyed his work as she came up beside him.  "Overkill, but we'll work on that.  Just be sure to close the channel sooner—the longer you leave it open, the bigger the result."  She inspected his arm, assuring that it wasn't broken.  "That was much better.  Let's call it a night, though.  I don't need you in pieces before you can even lend me a hand."

He raised an eyebrow at the pun, wondering if Windy knew she'd said it.

**....**

Yuber stared vacantly at the ceiling of his small room, which was really no more than a large crawlspace—something rather akin to an attic—in the left wing of the old stone hall Windy had occupied.              The moonlight filtered through light gauze curtains, waving like sheeted phantoms in a gentle breeze.  He couldn't help it when a sigh found its way from his breast, curiously half content, and half restless.  He'd been here for weeks, but was making slow progress.  Between lessons with Windy, he filled the daylight hours by improving his skill with a blade.  He was relentless and hard on himself, pushing his mind and body to overcome his ineptitude.  With his newly acquired speed and agility that the Rune loaned him, he trained himself to rely more on swiftness and strategy than strength.  Though he did find that without an actual opponent, _testing_ his training was proving to be quite difficult.

The morning and early evening lessons with Windy were going... _better_ was the most accurate word he could find for it.  He wasn't knocking himself to the ground anymore, but doing anything beyond that was still mostly a matter of good fortune.  Windy was, though, a good teacher, and patient with his several fumbling attempts.  And he was damned if he was going to let the Rune take advantage of him again.  So on he pressed, slowly but surely in his training.

But he had nothing to do in the night, nothing to fill the empty time that swallowed the world and left him alone again.  Always so bitterly alone... He had no memories left to visit that he hadn't played out, save his own that he couldn't bear to relive.  And he dared not sleep, for fear of the cold, gripping hell that suffocated him when he did.  Often, his nights were spent the same way.  Staring up at nowhere, trying to think of nothing, wanting to be with no one—and never succeeding in any of it.

And so it went, for many months to come.

**....**

"I've managed to track down a lead.  This will be your first assignment... General."

Windy knelt before a large, ornately carved chest of deepest cherry wood.  "And I won't have my general looking like a common peasant boy.  An attractive peasant boy, but nonetheless.   I've been holding on to several items that came into my possession not long after you arrived... they belong to you, and I think you should start using them."  She undid the lock, and motioned for him to step closer.

Nestled in a bed of wine colored velvet, the sheen of finely polished metal glowed in the lamplight.  Piece by piece, she pulled a complete suit of armor from the chest, as he looked on, bewildered.

It was certainly very old, but had obviously been well cared for.  Something in the back of his mind tugged at him insistently, but he brushed it away for the moment, inspecting the armor further.  He frowned slightly.

"It looks heavy... how do you expect me to move around in this?  Unless you plan to put me on a horse..." The worried tone in his voice suggested that she had better do no such thing.  Even if he _could_ ride, his opinion of horses hadn't changed any.

She smiled.  "Looks can be deceiving," she said, quoting the old adage.  "Try it for me.  I think you'll be surprised."

He dubiously regarded the swooping curves and contrasting square angles the armor seemed to have in abundance.  It would be on anyone's fashion 'don't' list, imposing as it looked like it could be when assembled.  At least the colors were appealing—raven black trimmed in burnished gold.  "It's... chunky.  Like it would make a lot of noise."

Windy sighed.  "Would you just try it?  Trust me."

Yuber was still far from convinced, but he gave in with a nod.  The pieces strapped and buckled on easily enough, and the whole suit was incredibly quick to assemble.  He wasn't certain quite how it managed to hold together and the respective pieces stay in place so well, but he guessed it was some sort of ingenious interlocking method. 

It was _light_.  That was instantly noticeable.  He raised an arm, marveling in how easy it was.  It was as if he were wearing a suit of rice paper.  He tried a few simple fencing lunges.  All his joints bent exactly as they ever did in light training gear, with ease and fluidity.  And for all the armor's clunky, square looks, none of the parts got in the way of each other, no matter which direction he or his various appendages where turned.

"This... this is amazing.  Where did you find this?" he gaped at her.

"To be perfectly honest, it belongs to you.  Though I had to do a good bit of digging around to find the complete set, as it had been separated over the decades."  She handed him the final piece, the beautifully archaic horned helm.  "It is the armor belonging to the Rune of Chaos' bearer.  Your armor, and rightfully yours alone.  And might I say, you _do_ look like quite the warrior, Yuber."

He glanced at his now gauntleted rune hand, slightly unsurprised.  _Now_ he knew why it had seemed so familiar.  "I see."

"And with it... the sword."  She stood and pulled aside the burgundy velvet in the chest he thought was empty.  She withdrew a long, elegant blade.  It was simple, with no decorative scrollwork or jeweled hilt.  But it clearly commanded respect, and there was no doubt in his mind that it had done its work well in the past.  Windy handed it to him solemnly.  "King Crimson."

The name sent a ripple through his body as he was thrown back to his dream encounter with the Rune, with the blood red dragon that had chilled his very bones.  _...crimson..._

He took the sword gingerly, shaking off the numbness.  He tested its weight, and found it to be nearly as light as the armor, and perfectly balanced. 

"Only you will be able to use it as it was meant to be used.  In anyone else's hands, it would be heavy, awkward, and cumbersome.  Here is its sheath, and belt."  Both were made of simple black leather.  "And now that that has been seen to," she said, standing and dusting her garments off.  "... we begin."

**....**

Yuber stood on the bluff that overlooked the small village Windy had led him to.  There was plenty of tree and brush cover to assure that, while they could easily see down, no one would be able to spot them in return.

"In that little town, someone holds a True Rune.  I wasn't able to find out _which one_, though.  Still, I can sense it there, and I'll help direct you to it."  She scanned the homely little buildings one by one, as her eyes narrowed to slits in concentration.  It didn't take long for her roaming gaze to settle on one house in particular, near the back of the small town, on the verge of the woods beyond.

"There," she said, pointing it out.  "That one.  And remember, don't kill him."

Yuber nodded, quiet and focused.  His job had already been made clear to him earlier.  Windy would need him alive to discover how to obtain the power of the True Rune.

Yuber slipped into the cover of the forest, circumventing the village to avoid unwanted eyes.  Since the target was conveniently positioned, getting to it became that much easier.  The trees blocked the sun, keeping it from glinting off his armor.  When he moved, it was with eerie silence and agility, as if he wore no armor at all.  He was grateful.  This was his first 'trial run,' so to speak.  He wasn't about to let himself do something stupid to ruin it _yet_.

His right hand held the hilt of his blade in a vice-grip, and it burned beneath the skin.  Like fire pokers digging into his palm, his joints, his muscles, the Rune's command growled insistently in his mental ears.

He slipped from the brush, edging along the side of the house, still unseen.

Yuber's sword changed hands, from his right to his left.  He held his now free palm before the empty air, and thought hard about the house—or rather, the abstract center of the house.  He gathered the energy, like stretching a tanned hide tighter than it should be stretched.  When he let go, the resulting 'snap' would serve as an effective element of surprise… if it didn't bring the entire house down in the process.

_Just a little, just a little… carefully_

He loosed the Rune, letting a brief shock of unseen power through the air.  The small explosion beyond the house's walls made the earth shudder a bit in the immediate area, but it would have been unnoticed more than fifteen feet away.  Yuber let a vague semblance of a smile run across his lips; it had done exactly what it was supposed to have done.

A middle-aged man threw back the door of the house, floundering into the walk in a coughing, wheezing stupor.  Smoke wafted through the doorway, lazily floating skyward.  The man was dazed, and he shook his head several times, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

Yuber's eyes were instantly attracted to the man's right hand.  It was gloved, as was the left, but Yuber's Rune told him all he needed to know.  _That's him.  _

Yuber approached the man with a confident air, knowing better than to show hesitation—though his guard was definitely up.  He didn't know _which_ True Rune this man had, only that he did, in fact, have one.  Yuber wasn't eager to underestimate him.  King Crimson now returned to his rune hand, he faced the villager, tense.

The rune bearer squinted at the man clad in black, straightening as he caught his wind.  "Who… or _what_… are you?"

The blond wasn't exactly certain how to approach that question.  He hastily decided on the most vague answer he could.  "I am… nothing but a shadow."

"I assume you have a good reason for blasting me out of my house, shadow?"  The man was not intimidated, and would have looked Yuber dead in the eyes had they not been hidden beneath his helmet.

Yuber readied his sword, taking at step towards his target.  "Your True Rune is needed."

"Oh, is it, now?  Then you can _have it_!"

Yuber saw the man move, dropping his blade and crossing his arms defensively—but too late. White arcs of electricity thundered along the ground and slammed into his chest, knocking him into the air.  He crashed into the brush behind him, and shook the stars from his eyes.  The man already had another bolt at the ready, a blue ball of nervous light in his hand. 

_True Lightning._

He cursed and scrambled to his feet as the magic serpent was released at him, barely managing to dodge.  Yuber rolled to his feet, stood still just long enough for the man to take aim and shoot again, then dove for his sword.  The armor flowed seamlessly with him, as if it weren't even there.  He was grateful, since he was only just managing to keep one step ahead as it was.

King Crimson thrummed in his hand, resonating with the ache of the Rune.  He swung broadly, pulling the blow short of doing any damage.  He only wanted to catch the man off guard, to break his concentration and keep him from using his rune.  It had the desired effect—the villager fell back, his aggression starting to slip and show the fear welling beneath.

Another slash, too close for comfort, and he thought better of the situation.  He spun and took off through the streets.  Yuber swore at himself under his breath, sprinting after him in pursuit.

_Damn!  Don't let him get away, fool!_

Some part of him noticed that the avenues and alleys of the little village were quickly vacated in his wake.  Fewer things to distract his focus…

Yuber hoped that all his training with Windy would be worth something.  He turned his thoughts inward, even as he trailed his target.  He pulled the energy to him, and centered it on a spot just in front of the rune bearer's flying feet.  A small explosion would be all he needed, just enough to trip the man up and give Yuber the upper hand.

He opened the channel, releasing the Rune after the power—

—to find that the villager had jumped the fence that now loomed in front of him.  He skidded to a halt, mind blank.

_No!_

His control shattered and evaporated.  Yuber fought to close the connection with his rune, forgetting all about the chase.  And in the split second that it took to realize he was in real trouble, the Eightfold Rune thundered through the still-open channel. 

His very soul screamed in pain, as though it were being ripped from its foundations and shredded with the power of the Rune.  He collapsed on the spot, darkness taking him mercifully into its arms.

The relief didn't last.  He opened his eyes some minutes later, staring blankly at the packed earth beneath his nose.  There was a silence unlike any he'd ever known all around him—thick, heavy, filling every space and devouring every heartbeat, every breath.  When found the strength to look up, he realized why.  It was no silence at all.  It was the deafening roar of a firestorm.

Not again… 

Yuber tried to stand, to get to his feet and somehow find a way to stop the blaze.  His arms and legs were like dead weights, and he found no support in them.  He flailed once more, a final, desperate effort.  To no end, however, and he was rewarded for his attempt by a lungful of searing, choking smoke.  His skin felt tight and hot, his armor singing in the furnace the village had become.  He wheezed, shutting his eyes tight as tiny embers danced into his face, finding their way through the eyeholes of his helmet and popping on his blistered cheeks with explosions of pain.

As he was ready to admit defeat, a flash brighter than the flames engulfed him.  A bubble of cool air enveloped his body, and in the blink of the next instant, the entire scene was gone.  He squinted up to see the scowl written on Windy's face, but wasn't sure if it was anger or worry.  He didn't decide which before he slipped from conciousness, exhausted.

**....**

_Author's Notes:_

-Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone who's been so patient in waiting for this chapter to go up, and I'd like to apologize for its shortness.  I cut it in the effort to just get it up—the story is far from dead, and I have been working on it diligently when time has permitted.  The space between updates is painful.  'NLB' has suffered from the agony of a Windows 98 formatted disk and computers with Windows XP, and I've been unable to access it for many months at a time.  But problems have been solved, and 'NLB' is back. Rejoice!  Huzzah!  Ahem. Yes.

-Secondly, if Yuber seems a little out of character yet, keep in mind that he's still young and is rather inexperienced.  And look, armor. :}

-No, the man that owns the True Lightning rune at this point is not Geddoe.  We're a little early in history for that.

-Many happy returns!

---Neko 'Do You Want Fries With That' Burd---


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